


Ctrl Alt Del

by inkiestdawn



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, M/M, Reader-Insert, Supernatural AU - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-26
Updated: 2016-12-28
Packaged: 2018-03-19 18:53:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 15
Words: 31,015
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3620544
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inkiestdawn/pseuds/inkiestdawn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam, Dean, and Crowley end up in another dimension. Unsure of how they got there, the brothers need to figure out a way to get home while playing the role of the brutal Winchesters who hunt a whole new kind of prey alongside the Archangel Gabrielle and the reader. Survival means figuring out who to trust and remembering that nothing is as it seems.</p><p> </p><p>Eventual readerxDean<br/>Samxfem!Gabriel</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“CROWLEY?”

The demon turns, body rigid and head spinning, giving him a sickening sense of vertigo. One moment he was in Hell giving Rowena the go ahead to cast a spell and the next he’s….

Dean and Sam are staring at him. Sam is wide eyed, gaze flicking around the room. They’re in their usual seedy hotel room with minimal personal effects strewn about.

“What the hell just happened?” Dean growls, stance wide and arms out as if he’s trying to steady himself.

“Umm,” Crowley searches for a suitable lie, thinking that ‘I was trying to punish you’ might not go over so well, particularly since he’s on the Winchester’s turf. Or maybe not. The room looks normal but something doesn’t quite sit right.

“Something different about you?” he purrs, looking at Dean, fingers brushing just above the collar of his freshly pressed, button down shirt.

“What the hell?” Sam says, walking over to his brother. He pulls down the collar of Dean’s plaid flannel shirt, revealing a banishing symbol tattooed on his neck.

“What is it?” Dean whispers, eyes wide in panic. He reaches up to touch the skin under his jaw, fingers twitching nervously.

“Uh…” Sam’s attention is pulled away as his sleeve slides down to reveal black ink on his arm. Swallowing hard, he unbuttons the cuff and pulls the fabric down to reveal lines of Latin inscribed on his forearm.

“What the hell is this?” Dean stomps into the bathroom, yelling out, “Son of a bitch.”

Sam joins him, eyes widening as he watches Dean shed layers and reveal his naked, heavily inked torso. He bumps past his brother, storming over to Crowley.

“Is this some kind of joke?” he jabs an accusing finger into the demon’s face but Crowley’s attention is on the words and symbols etched into the elder Winchester’s chest, stomach, and arms.

A heavy feeling settles over him. He shouldn’t be surprised really. He knew his mother’s arrival boded ill for him.

Under his breath, he mutters, “Oh mother,” as the door opens.

Dean and Sam, alert, turn to the door.

***

You’re not sure what surprises you most, the look of shock and confusion on Dean and Sam’s faces or the fact that a lowly bloody page of the court, dressed to impress, is with them.

“What the hell are you doing here?” you spit at Crowley, “Don’t you have errands to run?”

The demon has the balls to look affronted. The young woman beside you, Gabe, ignores him, skipping to Sam. She takes the lollipop out of her mouth long enough to plant a quick, sticky kiss on his lips before throwing herself onto one of the beds. She bounces, giggling, and crosses her legs, lying back with a soft sigh.

“You guys look like you’ve dropped the brown acid,” she says in her soft, sing song voice.

“Yeah,” you say, circling them, “what’s going on?”

Dean’s eyes are on a deep cut above your left eye. You smile and touch in gingerly.

“Last one was a fighter,” you murmur, casting a quick glance at the demon, “why is he here? And why do you guys look like you’ve been dropped into a vat of jell-o with the Chief.”

“Dean loves the Chief,” Gabe giggles, reaching out to tap Sam’s leg with the toe of one sparkly high top sneaker.

The brothers are standing as though the room is spinning and they keep looking at Crowley. A feeling of unease settles deep in your belly.

“What’s going on?” you say again.

“Uh…” Sam clears his throat, casting quick glances at Gabe, “we’re feeling a bit…off,” he looks at Dean who half turns to his brother, nodding.

Sam looks at you pointedly, “You are?”

You take a half step back, squaring your shoulders. Your arms are rigid by your sides and you can feel every muscle tense as a rush of adrenaline courses through you.

Attention turning to the demon, you say, “What the fuck have you done, servant?”

“SERVANT?” he roars, moving towards you. “I am the King of Hell!”

You cock an eyebrow as Gabe rolls onto her stomach, slurping at her lollipop and laughing.

“That’s cute!” she says, “Does my brother know this? Is this one of those reward things like ‘King for a Day’ where you get to wear a paper crown and order people around because you’ve been a good dog?”

Crowley sputters, cheeks and neck reddening with rage.

Gabe looks up at Sam, rolling the bright red candy on her tongue, “Was he a good dog baby? Did you and Lucifer come up with this?”

Dean rubs a hand over his face, muttering, “Lucifer?”

“You’re not Dean,” you say, staring at him. He hasn’t made a move towards you, doesn’t even look like he recognizes you. The unease in your stomach hardens.

“Oh I’m Dean alright,” he growls, “but I don’t know you or..or…” he points at Gabe before narrowing his eyes at Crowley.

“You did this. What the hell did you do?” he yells, hands balling into fists.

Crowley takes a half step back towards the door, eyes on the ceiling. He frowns and snaps his fingers.

You laugh, “You don’t have that kind of power, slave.”

Crowley sighs heavily, rubbing at his temples.

“What did you do Crowley?” Sam yells.

“I don’t know,” he admits, “it was…oh hell…it was Rowena’s idea.”

“Rowena?” Dean asks, “The witch?”

Crowley raises his eyebrows and cocks his head, shrugging.

“I just wanted to knock you down a peg,” he raises his voice defensively.

You stalk over to the demon, raising an arm to his throat, and force him back against the wall. His eyes go down to the knife in your hand.

“What did you do to them?” you hiss.

“I don’t know,” he swallows hard.

You pull your arm away, bringing the butt of the knife down hard on his temple. The demon crumples at your feet.

Turning to the Winchesters, you say, “Who are you?”

Gabe slides off the bed, soft brown eyes narrowing. She backs toward you, slipping a knife out from under her shirt.

Sam holds his hands out, “I’m Sam, Sam Winchester. This is my brother Dean.”

Gabe doesn’t laugh which is telling. She blinks as if seeing clearly for the first time since entering the room.

“I don’t think so,” you lower your voice, tensing your shoulders, “we know Dean and Sam quite well.”

“Well, we don’t know you sweetheart,” Dean points out, lips curled back revealing clenched teeth.

Gabe bumps up against you, not by accident. You bite down hard on your lower lip, swallowing back the hard lump that formed in your throat.

“We can figure this out,” Sam pleads, looking from Dean to you and Gabe, “please. Put the knives down.”

You tighten your fingers around the handle of the knife, the wood warming in your grip.

“Y/N,” Gabe whispers. She nods her head, slipping her knife back into the sheath hidden under her clothes. Her long brown hair falls in her face as she ducks her head, turning just enough to give you a quick look.

“Who are you?” Dean demands.

“Why do you have your shirt off Deano?” Gabe asks, lips curving up into a playful grin.

Momentarily distracted, Dean looks down at his torso, frowning.

“Well, let’s just say I didn’t look like Beckham half an hour ago.”

It’s your turn to frown, “Who’s Beckham?”

Dean blinks at you, mouth hanging open as he considers whether or not a response will further things along. With a quick shake of his head, he decides against it.

“Please,” Sam pleads softly, “who are you and what are we doing here?”

You clear your throat, “I’m Y/N and this…” you hesitate, feeling ridiculous introducing yourself to people who know you well, intimately even, “This is Gabrielle. We’re in town on a hunt, just finishing up.”

“Alright,” Sam shoots a relieved look at Dean, “hunting we know. What are we hunting?”

You scoff at him, “Humans, of course.”


	2. Chapter 2

Dean feels like he’s about to be sick and Sam doesn’t look so good himself. The brothers give each other a quick look, Sam pressing his lips into a hard, thin line and inclining his head, his ‘give it a minute before you blow’ look.

Dean takes a deep breath, squeezing his eyes shut for just a moment before turning back to you.

“Right, humans. Of course,” he says, nostrils flaring and jaw clenched tight. “Now, what’s this about Lucifer?”

Gabe bounces in place. Even raising herself up on her toes, her head barely comes up to your eye level.

“Big brother. King of Hell?” she says with a lilt.

“Which makes you…” Dean trails off, squeezing his eyes closed again and pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Gabrielle,” she sings, replacing the bounce with an impatient fidget.

“As in the Archangel?” Sam leads.

“Uh huh!” Gabrielle nods, her smile slowly fading. She looks at you out of the corner of her eye. She’s getting tired of the game.

“Which makes you?” Sam turns to you then.

“Not an angel,” you mutter.

“But not a human,” he says.

“Yuck, no,” Gabe laughs, “She’s my little Sylphy nugget of love.”

“Yes,” you say, tone flat, “I am a Sylphy nugget.”

“OF LOVE,” Gabrielle sings.

You grunt and sigh.

“And we are?” Dean is still rubbing his eyes, looking as annoyed, confused and lost as you feel.

“You tell me,” you say.

“I told you, we’re Sam and Dean Winchester,” Sam says, “but a little more…decorative,” eyeing the tattoos covering Dean’s back.

“I need a drink,” you sigh, crossing the room, careful not to touch either brother.

“You read my mind,” Dean says, stopping suddenly, eyes wide, “That’s not something you can do, is it?”

“No.” You pull a bottle of scotch out of a pack on the floor, unscrew the cap, and take a long drink. Dean disappears into the bathroom to retrieve his clothes. He pulls his t-shirt over his head before adding the flannel plaid button down.

Gabe walks slowly over to Sam. She brushes her fingers over his arm and chest, standing up on her tip toes to press her fingers to his forehead. Sam flinches at her touch but stands still, watching her closely. The angel’s face seems to go a little slack and she gets a faraway look in her eyes.

“Oh,” she whispers, eyes still focused on something you can’t see. Her soft brown eyes glow a bright blue. She lets her hand drop slowly, her eyes returning to normal.

“They’re telling the truth,” she acknowledges. “He’s Sam but different.” She looks up at him, searching his face.

You take another long drink before shoving the bottle into Dean’s chest. The liquor burns going down, heat spreading to your stomach.

“Shit,” you look over at the demon crumpled in a heap in the corner of the room. Running a hand over your face, you look at Dean. He’s taking a drink from the bottle, eyes closed, Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows.

“We need to figure this out,” you say, “we need to get those people shipped out today.”

“People? You me…” Sam asks, words dying in his throat when you shoot him a hard glare.

“Kevin might be able to help,” Gabe ventures, shrugging her shoulders.

In unison, Dean and Sam turn to her, Sam muttering, “Kevin’s alive? Kevin Tran?”

You frown at him, “Of course, he’s a prophet. Who in their right mind would kill a prophet?”

“They’re not from here,” Gabe adds.

“No shit,” you mutter, “it’s worth a try. Balthazar is waiting for that shipment so we need to move.”

Not bothering to see if they’re following, you head towards the door.

“What do we do with him?” Gabe asks, nudging Crowley with the toe of her shoe.

“Right,” you turn to Sam, asking, “can you pick him up? We can’t leave him here if he’s from….wherever the hell you came from.” You hesitate a moment, “Is he really the king of hell?”

*** Sam drops Crowley’s body into the backseat, “You really knocked him out good.”

“I’ve had a lot of practice,” you say, opening the driver’s side door.

Dean looks around the parking lot, “I guess it’s too much to hope for my car.”

“The Impala?” you ask, biting back a smile at the instant look of hope on Dean’s face. Your Dean never looks at you like that.

“Yeah, it’s at the lot,” you slide into the car as Gabe pushes Crowley’s limp form over, pulling Sam in after her. Sam clears his throat as he sits, rubbing his palms on his jeans and giving Gabe a quick, shy smile.

Dean hurries over to the passenger side, “Is she?” he pauses, looking at you. You slam your door closed, trying not to look too closely at him.

“The car is fine, you….uh…couldn’t drive last night so we left it at the lot with the truck,” you lean forward to look up at the sky, asking Gabe, “Where’s Kevin at tonight?”

“Probably In the Woods,” she says, smiling up at Sam, “I like this one.” She reaches up to run her hands through his hair. Sam looks at you through the rear-view mirror, his smile tight.

You start the car, peeling out of the parking lot.

“I hope he’s in a good mood,” you mutter.

Dean looks over, asking, “Kevin?”

Glancing sideways at him, you nod, “He’s a bit of a dick, especially if he’s drunk or high.”

“And he’s always drunk or high,” Gabe giggles from the back seat, putting her legs in Sam’s lap. He fidgets uncomfortably, placing his hands down by his thighs.

“Oh, don’t be shy,” the angle sings, “Sam and I…well, my Sam, we’re together.”

Dean grins and turns to look over his shoulder at Sam. He laughs at his brother, wiggling his eyebrows. Eyes on the road, you duck your head enough to hide your smile.

Sam leans forward, whispering, “Do I need to remind you we’re God knows where and we’re supposed to be hunting humans?”

Dean’s expression fades quickly. He faces front once again, hands clenching and unclenching.

As Sam sits back, Gabe leans forward, gripping the back of Dean’s seat. She glances at you as she says, “You and Y/N do very, very naughty things to each other.”

“Can you not right now?” you yell, jerking the wheel to pull onto an off ramp.

Pouting, Gabe lets herself fall back, “Bitch.”

“Fucking ball gurgler,” you spit back, gripping the steering wheel tight.

“Maybe you should ask him for road head to help you relax,” Gabe dead pans, glaring at the back of your head.

You can feel your shoulders slowly inch up towards your ears. The muscles in your jaw and neck tense. Out of the corner of your eye, you see Dean staring straight ahead, hands folded in his lap, lips pressed into a tight thin line.

“So,” you clear your throat, “you said you’re hunters. What do you hunt?”

Dean looks over, gaze flicking to Sam before returning to you, “Monsters,” he shrugs, “all kinds, you know, werewolves, vampires, witches…” he trails off when he notices your expression of horror. His anger is quick, “Oh, what, and you hunt humans? This is a good thing?”

“Humans are the worst kind of monster,” you retort, “the…the genocides, they kill and maim and…and…the things they do to other species, not to mention their own young!”

Dean’s expression seethes with disbelief, “Are you kidding me? Vampires and werewolves feed off of humans…”

“AND?” you cut him off, “they’re made of meat, just like the animals humans feed off of…”

Sputtering, Dean shifts in his seat, frustrated by his limited ability to move, “And you don’t eat meat?”

“NO!” you shout, disgusted.

Gabe leans forward, “She’s a sylph, they can’t tolerate meat.”

“Thank you peanut gallery,” you hiss.

“I personally love a good…”

“Shut the fuck up Gabe!”

She glares at you, crossing her arms over her chest.

“I don’t know what you see in her,” she says to Dean.

“Well, this is lovely,” Crowley groans, squinting as he tries to sit up. Gabe scowls at him, inching closer to Sam.

The demon looks over at Sam, “Moose. You figure this out yet?”

**

“So, he calls you moose and you let him?” Gabe is holding on to Sam’s arm, fingers twined around his as you walk towards the club.

Crowley protested quite a bit as you tied him up but he shut up quick enough when you threated to knock a few teeth out.

You lead the way towards the club, passing the long line up and walking straight up to the bouncer. A back lit purple sign reads “In the Woods”, the light making Chief’s teeth glow unnaturally bright white.

“There’s my favourite foursome,” he grins at you, pulling the chain aside.

Dean’s eyes widen and he takes a step back into Sam when Chief winks at him, “Hey handsome.”

“Uh, hey,” Dean waves stiffly.

Chief pulls open the door for you. A heavy bass beat and flashing lights greet you as you walk through with a quick nod of thanks.

The club is packed. Sam and Dean stand close to one another, looking around. Dean scowls.

“So, if these aren’t humans…”

“Monsters,” you sneer, pushing your way through the crowd towards the VIP area at the back.


	3. Chapter 3

It takes you a moment to realize what’s wrong with Kevin.

 

The prophet is sitting with his back pressed into the red leather cushions of the booth, chin tucked down against his chest. His face is covered with a thin sheen of sweat and he keeps licking his lips, eyes darting between you and the Winchesters.

 

“You’re sober,” you say in disbelief. 

 

Kevin’s eyes are red rimmed and his chest moves with quick, shallow breaths. He’s alone in the VIP section, an occasion about as rare as his sobriety. 

 

“Not good,” he mumbles to himself, “this is not good.”

 

Sam and Dean stand behind you, close together, staring at the prophet.

 

“Can you tell me what happened?” you ask, taking a tentative step closer to him. You sit at the end of the booth, sliding over until your knee bumps his. Kevin jumps, attention darting to you.

 

“Y/N,” he licks his lips and you notice that he’s trembling, “this is really not good.”

 

“What’s going on Kevin?”

 

Behind your back, you wave at Gabe, snapping your fingers until you get her attention. She hurries over, look drawn in the direction of your gestures as you point to the curtain. She grabs it and pulls it out, skirting behind Sam and Dean, shutting off the rest of the club. She looks out over the dance floor longingly for a moment before securing the heavy blue drape to a post.

 

“Can I get you something?” she asks Kevin, sliding over on the bench to kneel beside him. She brushes his bright green hair out of his face.

 

“They’re not…they…,” he point to Sam and Dean, “how did they get here?”

 

“We don’t know,” you say, only loud enough to be heard over the music, “we were hoping you might be able to tell us.”

 

He shakes his head, the movement jerky and uncoordinated.

 

“Something shifted,” he mutters, “I don’t know what but it was like time stopped and then sped up again to catch up, you know?” He looks at you hopefully.

 

“Yeah, sure,” you lie, “what caused it?”

 

“Magic most likely,” he looks at Sam and Dean, “very dark magic. Not from here. That’s the only explanation I can think of.”

 

“Where did Sam and Dean,” Gabe strokes Kevin’s head, her voice soft and soothing, “our Sam and Dean, go?”

 

“It’s as if they vanished, like they were sucked in to another dimension.” Kevin nods his head quickly, “That must be it.”

 

A look passes between the brothers before Dean turns to Kevin, “So what you’re saying is that we switched realities with…ourselves from another dimension?”

 

Kevin swallows hard. Gabrielle reaches up to pull at a thick, yellow braided cord. 

 

“Yes, maybe,” Kevin breathes out harshly.

 

Dean licks his lips, hands on his hips, and turns to look at Sam, “So we’ve possibly got two…uh…alternate Sam and Deans running around in our reality?”

 

“That’s not good,” Sam reaches out, grabbing Dean’s right arm. He turns it, pulling back the sleeve of Dean’s shirt and exposing his forearm. 

 

“No mark,” he murmurs.

 

“I don’t know if that’s good news or bad news,” Dean shifts his attention back to Kevin, “how do we get back?”

 

“I have no idea,” Kevin seems to wither under the hunter’s gaze, sliding down low in the booth, “if it was magic, we would need to find the person who cast the spell.”

 

The curtain is pushed aside as a young woman with long, silver hair and pointed ears walks in carrying a tray. She looks at you, smiling shyly. 

 

“Sister,” she says, her voice soft. She places the tray down on the table, eyes on the floor as she says, “will there be anything else?”

 

“No.” Gabe dismisses her with an impatient wave of her hand.

 

Dean and Sam turn to watch her go.

 

“Your demon said something about Rowena. Who is she?” you grab a glass from the tray. There’s a bottle of liquid the colour of Kevin’s hair. You cringe at it but pour yourself a glass, raising your eyebrows at the brothers. Dean nods. Sam shakes his head.

 

“Can…can they sit or something? They’re making me nervous,” Kevin says. 

 

Dean pulls a chair up to the table. Sam slides in beside Gabrielle. 

 

You push a glass of absinthe over to Dean, pouring another and offering it to Kevin. He shakes his head, looking pale and ill.

 

“Alright,” you sip at the drink, wrinkling your nose at the bitter taste, “so, some…witch from another dimension cast a spell that switched our Sam and Dean for…” you close your eyes and shake your head, forming the words slowly, “for alternate versions of themselves?”

 

Kevin’s nod turn into a head shake, “I think so?”

 

You roll your eyes, stopping when a thought comes to mind. You sit up, attention focusing on Dean, “The demon in the car, he said something about wanting to knock you down a peg. He must have been present or, at least, somewhat aware of what was done?”

 

Sam and Dean look at each other. Sam stands quickly, holding his hand out, “Keys?”

 

You frown at him, “You can’t bring him in here.”

 

Gabe laughs, “They’ll eat him alive.”

 

Dean raises an eyebrow at you, “I thought you were civilized monsters.”

 

“Hierarchy,” you say, tone flat, “he’s a servant of the court, and a demon.”

 

“Oh? And demons aren’t revered? What about Lucifer?”

 

Gabe scoffs, “Luci isn’t a demon. He’s an angel dumb dumb.”

 

“A fallen angel,” Sam corrects.

 

You turn to stare at him, shocked. Kevin’s mouth falls open as he looks at Sam. Gabe just looks amused.

 

“Fallen?” she says, “An angel falling from Heaven, that…” she shakes her head, corners of her mouth curving down, “no. What kind of reality do you live in?” Gabe reaches into the pocket of her dress, pulling out a candy. She unwraps it, popping a purple glob into her mouth.

 

Sam and Dean look at each other.

 

“I don’t think we need to know the details of that right now,” you admit, rubbing your eyes and sliding out of the booth, “we do need answers. Let’s get the demon over to the warehouse. We can question him there. Balthazar will be expecting us with the shipment soon anyway.”

 

Kevin’s shoulders slump forward in relief.

 

“Oh no,” you say, “you’re coming too.”

 

He looks up at you, eyes watering, “I think I’ll stay here.”

 

Gabe grabs the sleeve of his shirt. Pulling him close, she threatens, “Don’t fuck with me, prophet. Get off your ass now!” Her tongue and teeth are purple.

 

“Why me?” Kevin whimpers, sliding out of the booth after Gabe. He’s wearing a blue and black kilt, rainbow striped leggings and orange combat boots. 

 

“That’s a great look Kev,” Dean laughs, grabbing the bottle of absinthe. 

 

Kevin smiles, “Thanks! You usually hate my clothes.”

 

Dean cocks his head, grinning, “Let’s just say it’s good to see you no matter what you look like.”

 

Kevin frowns, asking Gabe, “What does he mean by that?”

 

“Don’t worry about it,” she pushes him out of the VIP area ahead of her. The Winchesters follow them out with you close behind.

 

***  
The dance floor is packed and very hot. Lights flash and flicker as the bass beat thumps a loud, steady rhythm. Gabe quickly gets distracted as people recognize her, pulling her into the crowd. 

Hands grab at the others, Kevin smiling as a young guy with a buzzed head pulls him close and kisses him.

 

Sam and Dean try to push back but are soon swarmed. You skirt the edge of the mass, smiling at the expression of horror on Dean’s face as he’s grabbed and fondled. A tall man with a mess of cotton candy pink hair licks his neck. Dean flashes a weak smile, looking up over the dancers until his eye lock with yours.

 

You lean back against the bar, folding your arms over your chest. You know you don’t have time to waste but you’re kind of enjoying this. Dean is so different, a bit less bite and a little more willing to smile. You see Sam laugh. Dean clutches the front of his brother’s shirt as Pink Hair tries to drag him to a dark corner of the dance floor.

 

Pink Hair looks down as someone comes between him and Dean. You can just make out the top of Gabrielle’s head. The angel smiles up at the tall man as she takes Dean’s hand and leads him out of the crowd. She pops and snaps a wad of lavender gum, handing the hunter over to you.

 

Dean’s shoulders slump forward in relief. He avoids eye contact.

 

“You don’t party in your…uh..reality?” you shout over the music.

 

Dean gives you a sidelong glance, “Oh I party. I just usually prefer a quieter place, better music, you know,” he leans close to you, “something more intimate.” He frowns and stands back when he notices your attention drawn elsewhere.

 

A man stands in the corner, staring at you. Arms crossed over his chest, he looks down at his watch, raising an eyebrow. Dean turns, following your gaze.

 

“Who is that?” he yells over the music.

 

“Stay here,” you order, pushing past him.

 

You elbow your way through the crowd, stopping only when you’re toe to toe with Balthazar.

 

“We still have two hours,” you say, standing close so he can hear you.

 

“Well, things have changed sweetheart, I need to move the cargo now.”

 

You stomach tightens. Looking back at the dance floor, you quickly locate Gabrielle. She’s watching you, expression serious. You point to the door. She bounces in time to the music, nodding. Her face splits into a wide, manic smile.  
“I’ll meet you in half an hour.”

 

“Not good enough,” Balthazar grabs your arm tightly, pulling you close and brushing his cheek, rough with stubble, against your face until his lips graze your ear, “You have fifteen minutes love.”

 

***  
“Moving the party?” Chief smiles down at you as you lead the Winchesters outside, Gabrielle following, pulling Kevin behind her.

 

The air outside is cool and fresh. You let out a long breath and nod, “We need something a bit more,” you shoot Dean a look, “private.” Winking at Chief, you turn and head down the street towards the car.

 

“Oh YES,” Kevin yells out, “I love night jogs.” His eyes roll in his head. He shuffles his feet quickly to keep pace with Sam, “You’re big. You know that? Like, freakishly big.”

 

Sam gives the prophet a weak smile.

 

You enjoy a moment of relief when you notice the demon is still in the car. You unlock the doors and slide in, starting the engine.

 

“Can you untie me now?” Crowley asks, shifting uncomfortably in his seat, hands still tied behind his back.

 

“Don’t do it,” Dean yanks open the passenger side door and gets in, “you got us into this mess, you son of a bitch.”

 

Gabrielle shoves Kevin in the back seat. Kevin giggles, sitting up slowly. He notices Crowley and presses his forehead against Crowley’s nose, “Ugly. You have any idea how ugly you are?” He laughs. 

 

“Get in,” you yell at Gabrielle and Sam. Sam slides onto the seat, shifting awkwardly as Gabe perches herself on his lap.

 

“We need to get the cargo passed off,” you pull onto the road, eyes on Gabe in the rear view, “then we can deal with these three.”

 

Gabe nods, snapping her gum, smiling as Kevin rubs his hands over Crowley’s closely cropped beard.

 

“So fuzzy,” he mutters, eyelids fluttering.

It doesn’t take long to get to the warehouse. You pull your car up behind a cube van, ordering, “Stay here.”

 

Dean hesitates, hand on the door handle. 

 

You get out, looking around as you hurry to the van. The warehouse yard is fenced in but you can’t be too careful. Your hands shake as you unlock the back door of the vehicle and slide it up, opening it just enough to see the people inside huddled together.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> .”

You slide the door shut, hands shaking. Balthazar will be here soon.

Looking back at the car, you see Gabe get out. Kevin is sitting on the demon’s lap, laughing at something Sam is saying.

Gabe slams the door shut and walks over, snapping her gum.

“I have no idea if we can trust them,” you whisper, glancing at Dean. He’s leaning forward, watching you.

“We need to get these people shipped out,” Gabe grabs your arm, “you’re the best, you can do this.”

Your stomach cramps up, anxiety pumping adrenaline through you, making you feel jittery and nauseated. Crossing your arms over your chest, you pace restlessly behind the van.

“What do we do about them?” You tilt your head towards the car.

“Well, we know that Kevin is in. The demon,” Gabrielle closes her eyes and shudders, “I don’t see why we can’t just dump him somewhere…”

“Because he seems to be the only one who has an idea what’s going on,” you interject, “this couldn’t have come at a worst time.”

Gabe reaches up to brush the hair out of your face, “It’ll be fine. You’ve been in worse situations than this.”

***

Dean shifts in his seat, throwing an arm over the back rest. He rolls his head to the side, stretching the tense muscles in his neck.

“Alright Crowley, what the fuck is going on?”

Kevin is still sitting in the demon’s lap, laughing over the revelation that Crowley proclaims himself to be the king of hell.

“A demon, king of hell,” he laughs, “that’s so good. Are you an actor? Court jester maybe?”

Sam and Dean exchange a look. The corners of Sam’s mouth quirk up as Crowley sputters, enraged.

“Get the hell off of me Tran,” the demon bellows, wriggling his hips, trying to throw the prophet off. “Could someone untie me already? This is ridiculous.”

“You need to start giving us some answers,” Dean threatens, shooting a quick look at the van, “they hunt humans here and they don’t really seem to be all that keen on demons either. We need you to go to your fucking mind palace and think of something useful.”

Crowley stops moving. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath.

“You said that Rowena cast a spell,” Sam says, “can you tell us anything about it? The incantation? Things she used?”

“I wasn’t actually in the room. I’m the King of Hell dammit, I don’t do my own dirty work. I have other people do it for me.”

“Worked out pretty well for you, didn’t it?” Dean spits.

Kevin’s forehead bumps against the window as he leans over, gazing up at the sky, “Such a nice night,” he whispers.

Dean sighs.

“Sammy, can you think of anything?”

Sam shrugs, “We don’t have our cells and I haven’t seen anyone actually even use one.”

“Kevin,” Dean shouts, “Kevin!”

Kevin blinks, rolling his head slowly on the window, his breath fogging the glass, “Yes non-Dean?”

“You have a cell phone? Laptop? Any way we can access the internet?”

Kevin giggles, “What’s an innernet?”

“Shit,” Dean swears, rubbing a hand over his face, “alright. I’ve tried calling Cas but, so far, nothing.”

Sam tugs on Kevin’s kilt, trying to get his attention, “Hey, do you know an angel named Castiel?”

The prophet shakes his head slowly, “Nope. Do you?”

“Oh come on,” Crowley growls, “if you’re going to sit on my lap, at least have the decency of not crushing the twig and berries.”

Kevin’s eyes are wide as he sits up, bringing his face so close to Crowley’s that their noses touch, “You haven’t been castrated?”

The demon pales and starts to shake, bellowing, “Get us the hell out of here Moose.”

***

All of the doors of the car seem to open at once, Dean and Sam get out, Kevin tumbles to the ground followed by the demon who collapses onto top of him, hands bound behind his back.

“I’ve never been topped by a demon before,” Kevin sputters.

“What the hell is he doing out of the car?” you hiss, looking back towards the warehouse as you hurry over to pull Crowley off of the prophet.

Dean’s attention is drawn off to a back corner of the yard.

“Baby,” he murmurs, jogging quickly to the car.

Staring hard at the demon, you say, “I’m going to untie you but you had better fucking listen to me, you soulless piece of shit. You got me?”

“I like it when you talk dirty to me,” Crowley rumbles.

Surprised, you turn him around more gently than you had intended and quickly untie him. Crowley turns back, smiling at you, gingerly rubbing his wrists.

“What?” he says, “I know I’m charming darling but come on, don’t gush, you’ll embarrass yourself.”

You raise an eyebrow and flash him a half smile, nodding as you back away, almost tripping over Kevin.

“Oh for fuck’s sake,” you nudge him with the toe of your boot. The prophet is stretched out on the ground, passed out.

“Let me,” Crowley says, bending down to grab Kevin by the arm. He drags the prophet to the car and lifts him in.

Lights flash across the front gate as a car pulls in. You wave Sam over, leaning in close to say, “Look, you and…uh…Dean just,” you can see Dean running his hands over the hood of the car, mouth turned down and muttering to himself, “stay out of the way?”

Sam nods, “Sure.” He shoots a look at the van, hesitating a moment.

“What?” you mutter, balling your hands into fists. The driver at the gate honks impatiently.

Sam shakes his head, “Nothing.” He walks away slowly, casting quick glances at the van.

You jog over to the gate and pull it open. The car slows, the passenger side window lowering. Balthazar looks out at you, “How many?”

“Seventeen,” you say, hoping it doesn’t show how tense you are.

Balthazar’s eyes narrow.

“I’m going to need a few more Anunnaki,” he says to his driver. Opening the door, he gets out, straightening his jacket. His blond hair is mussed, sticking up at odd angles.

Gabe skips over, raising herself up on her tiptoes to kiss him on the cheek, “Brother.”

Balthazar kisses her cheek, “How are you?”

“Excellent, things are running smoothly,” she lies, smiling up at him.

“As is expected,” Balthazar says, watching the Winchesters. “Your hunters seem…preoccupied this evening. Does this have anything to do with our last shipment?”

“We haven’t ruled out any possibilities,” you say, “will you be able to move this many?”

Balthazar steps close to you, pressing his body to yours, lips at your temple, “Have I failed you yet, sylph?”

You pull back just enough to look him in the eyes, “No.”

“We need to trust each other completely. Do I have your trust?” he runs his fingers down the side of your face.

“Yes.”

“Good,” he looks over his shoulder, taking a half step back as his car pulls in, followed by a second vehicle. You look over the passengers of the second vehicle as they get out, stopping a few feet away to wait on orders.

The three men are large and imposing, faces impassive, hands folded in front of them.

“They’re not here for you my sweet,” Balthazar whispers, tugging at your chin, “they’re my most trusted. You can relax.”

“Shall we get this transaction completed?” Gabe asks, leading the way to the van. You’ve known her long enough to see that she’s feeling just as agitated as you are. Even as she bounces towards the van, popping her gum, there’s an edginess to her that belies an undercurrent of anxiety.

You see Crowley standing by Sam and Dean. From their vantage point, it’ll look like a normal deal. You can’t afford any mistakes.

Gabe stands by the rear door of the van. She spits her gum onto the ground, covering it with sand, and pulls another candy out of the pocket of her hoodie.

She offers it to Balthazar who shakes his head, smiling down at her. Gabe unwraps the candy and pops it in her mouth.

You unlatch the door and give it a push up. It slides slowly open, a light flickering inside.

It smells of unwashed bodies and the acrid tang that only fear gives to sweaty humans. You turn your head and swallow hard, trying to keep the bile from rising in your throat. Your mouth floods with saliva. Balthazar takes a step back.

Inside, seven men, five women, and five children huddle together. Their legs are shackled to a long chain secured to the floor. The smallest child, a girl of about five, buries her face in her mother’s neck, crying.

You square your shoulders, “Seventeen,” you say, lowering your voice, “all in good health though they haven’t been fed recently,” louder you announce, “that was the last of them from the western territory. The area is now clear.”

Balthazar nods. You see Dean lunge forward out of the corner of your eye. Sam grabs his arm stopping him. Your heart races and your stomach turns so violently and you nearly double over. You try to cover your discomfort by coughing loudly.

As Balthazar motions for them, the three Anunnaki step forward.

“Take the van to the docks,” he orders, rotating his body slowly, eyes going to Sam, Dean and Crowley.

“Is that a demon?” he asks, looking down at his feet, rubbing a thumb slowly over his lips.

You don’t have time to give an answer. Balthazar looks you in the eyes, gaze searching. He says, “I would say it’s rather strange for your kind to be dragging a demon around. Is this some kind of revenge fantasy you’re playing out?”

Balthazar looks back over at Crowley, “Well dressed too, isn’t he?”

One of the Anunnaki climbs into the back of the van. A man starts to wail loudly but the sound is cut off as the door is slammed shut with a loud crack. The other two men walk to the front of the vehicle and get in. The break lights flash red as the vehicle roars to life.

Balthazar sidles close to you, fingers wrapping around your upper arm, he pulls you close.

“I don’t know what’s going on sylph, but this had better not endanger our operation.” His tone is low and menacing.

“We have everything under control,” Gabe says, voice garbled by the candy in her mouth.

“That’s what you said the last time,” Baltahzar releases your arm. He nuzzles his face into your neck, whispering, “If you mess up again, I’m personally going to punish you. I’m going to take my time at it. Who knows? You might just enjoy it.”


	5. Chapter 5

“This is not okay,” Dean lunges forward, furious.

Sam grabs him, pulling him back.

“No, it’s not, but Dean, we need to play this right. We need to focus on getting back home.”

Dean’s jaw is clenched tight. His shoulders and chest heave as he breathes, quick, forceful movements. He yanks his arm out of his brother’s grip, turning his gaze and fury on Crowley. Dean closes the distance between them with two long strides, pointing a finger in the demon’s face.

“You need to tell us everything you know and you need to do it now.”

“You’re so sexy when you’re angry Dean.”

“Balthazar is watching us,” Sam whispers.

Dean takes a half step back, nostrils flaring, chin tight to his chest, shoulders hunched forward.

“Crowley,” Sam says, eyes on you and Gabe, “you don’t want to be stuck here any longer than we do. Start thinking and make it quick.”

The demon sighs. He leans back against the Impala, rubbing his beard wearily.

“I admit, I was hurt when you gave the blade to Castiel,” his voice is flat, “I mean, after everything we’ve been through,” he spreads his hands out, imploring.

Dean cocks his head, raising an eyebrow he says, “You knew what would happen with the mark. You knew and…”

The sound of a man yelling distracts the elder Winchester. He looks at Sam, his anger and frustration evident.

Softly, Sam says, “What are we going to do? We have no weapons, no contacts…”

“Contacts,” Dean’s face lights up with sudden hopefulness, “shit, Bobby. He might be alive.”

Sam nods, “Kevin’s here and Balthazar.”

“I thought it was him I saw in that club but…it’s all kind of surreal.” Dean bites down on his lower lip, thinking.

“What about Gabrielle and Y/N? You think we can trust them?”

Sam lets out a long breath, shaking his head as he considers, “I don’t know. They just seem to be doing their job, you know? I mean, if hunting people is what they do…”

“This is so fucked up,” Dean mutters.

Crowley opens his mouth to speak but Dean shoots him a glare, “Unless you have an answer, and I mean betting it all on double jeopardy good, I don’t want to hear it.”

“We’ve got Kevin,” Sam begins, making a face when Dean rolls his eyes, “and it seems like the girls are on our side, or we’re on theirs. They want their own versions of us back as badly as we want out so I think they’ll be helpful.”

“Alright, so,” Dean points at Crowley, “you start being useful or we’re going to see about that castration Kevin was talking about, and,” he looks at Sam, “we’ll see if the girls know anything about Bobby.”

Sam clears his throat, casting a glance over at the gate as the van pulls out of the yard, “He might not be the Bobby we knew.”

“Probably not,” Dean admits, “but it’s worth a try.”

***

You let out a long breath the moment Balthazar drives away, wringing your hands together, trying to massage the ache out of your fingers.

“That went well,” Gabe croons, unwrapping another candy.

Adrenaline spent, your body starts to feel awkward and heavy. Your vision swims as you try to focus on Dean.

“What are we going to do about them?”

Gabe looks at you, frowning, “Oh honey…”

“Hey, can I get some help here?” she calls out.

Sam hurries over.

Confused, you look up at him. His features are out of focus. Your knees buckle.

“Whoa,” he says as you pitch forward. He catches you, looking at Gabe, “what’s wrong?”

“She needs to get out of the city,” Gabe says, “it’s been too long.”

“What’s going on?” Dean asks, kicking up dust as he jogs over.

You try to push against Sam but you’re unable to lift your arms. There’s a sudden, fragmented moment of weightlessness as he picks you up.

“We need to get her out of the city,” Gabe explains, “we’ve got a place…”

“We?” Dean huffs , “we don’t…”

“Dean,” Sam warns, shouting over his shoulder, “Crowley, get in the car.”

To Gabe, he says, “I’ll drive; you tell me where to go.”

“I’ll take my car,” Dean says, smiling.

“Dean,” Sam cautions again, “it’s probably best if we stick together.”

“Then let’s take the Impala,” Dean pats down the pockets of his jeans and jacket, “does she have the keys?” He points to you, limp and unconscious in Sam’s arms.

Gabe sighs and checks your pockets. She pulls out a set of keys, looking through them, “These are for her car. We need to get going.”

With one last, longing look towards the Impala, Dean groans and shuffles after Sam.

***

“Sylphs need to be in contact with nature or they get weak,” Gabe explains. She’s sitting in the passenger seat in the front.

“Well,” Crowley jokes, “we’ve got two down, four to go. This is my kind of party.”

“Shut it,” Dean says, shifting uncomfortably. He has you in his lap and he’s not very happy about it. Kevin is propped up in the middle, head lolling back, snoring loudly.

“So, this place…” Sam begins.

“It’s safe,” Gabe gives him a sideways glance, appraising him.

Sam hesitates before asking, “Do you know someone, or do we…ummm, Bobby Singer? Is he around?”

Gabe’s eyes widen. She leans towards Sam, “You know Robert Singer?”

“Uh…well, in our…” he looks at Dean in the rear view, “home, we do. Yes.”

Gabrielle nods, sitting back in her seat. She brings her knees up to her chest, chewing on a soft candy.

Dean and Sam exchange looks. Gabe pulls down the sun visor, sliding open the small mirror. She looks into it, brushing her fingers through her long, brown hair. She catches Crowley’s gaze and snaps the mirror shut.

The miles pass in silence as everyone in the car slips into their own thoughts, the peace broken only by Kevin’s snores. The city gives way to suburbs, suburbs eventually dwindling until fields and forest line the road.

“Take the next right,” Gabe says softly.

“So…uh…Bobby?” Sam asks.

Gabe clears her throat, looking out her window. It’s too dark to make anything out. The lights of the city are far behind and heavy clouds slide lazily over the gibbous moon.

The lights illuminate the road ahead, a long stretch of dirt track bordered by trees.

“Let’s get to the cabin,” she says, “we can talk later.”

“Umm,” Dean looks down at you, face twisting with worry, “I think…is she glowing?”

Unconcerned, Gabe nods, “That’s a good thing. Have you never seen a sylph before?”

Your skin brightens slowly, taking on a soft, yellow glow.

Crowley grunts, “I wouldn’t want her so close to little Dean. She might be radioactive.”

Sam chuckles.

Dean’s face pales. He pushes you up out of his lap, trying to lean you against Kevin.

Gabe rolls her eyes, “She’s not dangerous. Well, not right now, anyway. And your, umm, ‘little Dean’, has been much closer to her than that.”

Sam slows the car, tires crunching over pebbles and twigs on the hard packed laneway. The headlights light up a log cabin.

“Home sweet home,” Gabe sings, opening her door and getting out as soon as Sam puts the car in park.

“Sam,” Dean mutters, “little help here.” Kevin has slid over in the seat, leaning heavily against Dean, crushing you between them.

Sam kills the engine and gets out. Opening the door, he reaches in, pulling you out and into his arms. Gabe smiles at him, “So gallant,” she praises, clapping her hands and bouncing up the steps to the cabin.

Crowley leans forward to look at the cabin, grumbling, “Home sweet home, indeed.”

“Keep your trap shut and get out,” Dean growls, dragging Kevin out of the car.

***

The cabin is small but tidy and efficient. It’s colder out here and after Sam lies you down on a small loveseat, Gabe asks him to help make a fire in the wood stove.

Dean dumps Kevin in a tiny bedroom at the back as Gabrielle instructed.

“This is kind of nice,” he says, eyeing the place approvingly. He pats his stomach, “I’m starving. You hungry?” he asks Sam.

Sam looks at Gabe, “I could eat.”

“There should be food in the cupboard,” she says, rubbing her hands on her leggings, “we were up here not long ago.”

“Together?” Sam asks, following Dean into the small kitchen.

Gabe nods, looking around for something, “Mmhmm. Check the freezer.”

“If you have this place, why get a hotel room in the city? It’s not too far,” Sam pulls a box out of the freezer, frowning at it.

Dean grabs the box, “This isn’t people is it?”

Gabe scowls, “Oh gross, no. It’s chicken fingers. You have chickens where you come from?”

Dean smiles, tearing open the box and pulling out a bag of frozen strips.

“We do,” Sam says, turning on the oven, “it’s just strange that some things are so …the same…”

“You said you were happy to see Kevin,” Gabe ignores Crowley as he brushes past her to a bookshelf packed with books, “why is that?”

“In our…world…Kevin’s dead,” Sam finds a cookie sheet and passes it to Dean.

“I figured that, but you were friends before he died?”

Sam leaves Dean to spread the frozen strips on the pan, joining Gabe in the living room.

“Yeah, he helped us out a lot and,” he nods, expression pained, “he did become a friend. We’re the reason he was killed.”

“Are we not friends in this reality?” Dean asks.

“Not so much,” Gabe checks on you before sitting across from the loveseat on the couch, scooting over to make place for Sam, “more of an acquaintance.”

“She going to be alright?” Sam looks down at you, staring at the soft yellow glow emitting from your skin.

“She’ll be fine, she just needs some time.”

“About Bo…” Sam trails off when Gabe pinches his leg, giving a pointed look towards Crowley. Sam nods in understanding.

“Sweet,” Dean says, “macaroni and cheese.” He pulls a box out of the pantry and searches for a pot.

“Beside the stove,” Gabe tells him.

Crowley frowns at a thick, leather bound volume in his hands, commenting, “Well, this is something I haven’t seen before.”

Sam walks over, reading over the demon’s shoulder, “Humanology,” he reaches out for the book but Crowley pulls away.

“Conversions, bindings, use and disposal,” Crowley reads, “Use and disposal I understand but converting and binding what exactly?”

Gabe stretches her legs out and yawns, “Converting humans and binding souls.”

“Converting humans to?” Sam makes another grab for the book but Crowley dances out of his way.

“Demons mostly,” she explains. In the kitchen, Dean fills the pots with water, setting in on the stove.

“What will happen to the humans you handed over this evening?” Sam asks as Crowley, losing interest, pushes the book at him.

“Those who show potential will be turned, others will be killed.”

Dean sighs but continues shuffling about the kitchen with a shake of his head, muttering, “This is a nightmare.”

“Why?” Sam asks, “Why not just co-exist?”

“We’ve tried that,” Gabe explains, “humans were created by our Father out of love but, from the start, they defied him and the laws set before them. Lucifer got tired of it.”

“Yes, and he was cast out of heaven,” Sam flips through the book, frowning.

Gabrielle laughs, “Umm, no. Michael stood by Lucifer when our Father threatened to throw him out. I did as well.”

“How do you have demons then?” Crowley asks, sitting in a rattan chair by the fire.

“We needed to set an example. Lucifer created hell to punish humans for their insolence and disobedience. He soon found that when humans lost their souls, they were much more pliable and useful.”

“And where was God in all of this?” Dean crosses his arms over his chest, walking over to stand by Sam.

Gabe shrugs, “He lost interest.”

Dean tilts his chin up, blinking fast, “He lost interest? He created an entire planet and species and he lost interest?”

Frowning, Gabe says, “Oh, he didn’t create the planet, just humans.”

Dean opens his mouth to say something but, thinking better of it, closes it again. He pinches the bridge of his nose, murmuring, “I think I’m getting a headache.”

“You should get some rest after you eat. The room at the far end is yours,” Gabe says, looking over at you, still laid out on the couch, “and Y/N’s. I don’t need to sleep but she does.”

“There’s only one bed in there,” Dean says.

“Well, yeah,” Gabe rolls her eyes.

“And where am I expected to bunk for the night?” Crowley asks, pulling the edges of his jacket together.

Gabe turns her head slowly towards the demon, staring him down, “Outside, like the cur you are.”


	6. Chapter 6

You turn in bed, your hip sinking into the soft mattress. Nuzzling your face into the pillow, you breathe in the familiar scent, comfortable and warm.

A sound, the floor creaking, and a soft shuffling, alerts you to someone entering the room. You open your eyes but it’s too dark to make anything out.

Suddenly tense and troubled, you sit up quickly, heart pounding. Your head spins.

“It’s just me,” you hear Dean whisper.

It takes you a moment to get your bearings. You recognize the bed and the smell of wood and smoke from the stove. The cabin.

“What are you doing here?” you ask wearily, disconnected thoughts and memories clicking slowly into place.

“We came with Gabrielle, she said you needed to get out of the city,” his voice is low but there’s a keen edge to it.

“I mean the room, what are you doing in here?”

“Oh…uh,” he hesitates, “the other rooms are taken and, after putting up a good fight, Crowley is sleeping on the couch.”

Normally, you wouldn’t think twice about making room for Dean. Normally, he wouldn’t ask either. The room slowly comes into soft focus as your eyes adjust to the dark, a soft light coming from the hall silhouetting Dean’s form in the doorway.

This shouldn’t feel as strange as it does, you think to yourself as you scoot back, making room. He’s basically the same person…but not.

“Okay,” you whisper, taking note that you’ve been changed into underwear and a t-shirt.

Dean sits on the edge of the bed. He pulls his boots and socks off. You turn your back to him, tucking your fist under your chin and closing your eyes.

“Sam went to bed with Gabe?” you ask, keeping your voice low.

Dean admits, “It didn’t take too much convincing.”

The bed shifts and creaks as he moves, sagging when he lays back, body on top of the covers. He hugs his arms over his chest, careful not to touch you.

You sit up, clearing your throat, “I can go sleep on the loveseat.” You push the blankets off , swinging your legs over the edge of the bed.

Dean sits up quickly, “No,” he says, holding a hand out, “it’s your room, I can, I’ll…”

Sighing, you say, “Just lie down. Under the covers. I don’t bite.”

Dean pauses. You can’t see his face well in the dim light. He takes a deep, steady breath, pulling the covers aside. He slides his legs down under the blankets, wriggling his hips until he’s on his side, facing you.

You swallow nervously and do the same, your body angled towards his but not touching.

“Who put me to bed?” you ask.

“Sam carried you in. Gabrielle must have changed your clothes,” he says.

You hear the soft sound of his breathing before he speaks again, “You’re not…uh…glowing anymore.”

“Hmm, no. I, my body rather, only does that when healing itself. You’re not familiar with my kind I take it. Never killed a sylph?”

Dean chooses his words carefully, “I’ve never heard of your kind, no. The things we hunt, we do it because they’re a threat, because they murder people, torture, rape, feed off of them…the things we hunt, we do it because it’s for the greater good. We save people.”

“So do we,” you say, so softly that Dean isn’t sure he hears you correctly.

You turn onto your back, closing your eyes. It takes a while to fall back asleep, your body painfully aware of the stranger next to you.

***

It’s bright and warm the next morning when you finally wake. You feel much better, head clear, fingers and toes twitching with renewed energy.

You’re turned to the wall, facing the window. You can hear Dean breathing behind you and, for a moment, desire pools between your legs. You lick your lips, squeezing your thighs together.

Stretching your legs out and arms up, you moan softly and turn towards him, stopping short when you remember that the man lying next to you isn’t the Dean Winchester you know.

You study him for a moment, still surprised that he looks exactly the same but feels so different. His blond hair sticks up, mussed, at odd angles. Long lashes brush against his lightly freckled cheeks, his skin golden and flushed in sleep. His jaw is slack, relaxed, lips, soft and pink, parted.

His right arm is bent; hand on the pillow beside his face. His fingers are long and rough. You know the feel of them on your skin so well, so intimately.

The space between your legs is wet, aching for attention and relief. Every inch of your skin begs to be touched and caressed. You’re surprised by a deep sense of loss, hollowness in the centre of your chest. It’s can’t be for him, or for the version of him you know.

Your relationship with Dean is more convenient than passionate or romantic. You work together, are valuable to one another. Dean is not loyal in any way, nor do you expect him to be. You value his skills as a hunter and enjoy other skills he possesses when it suits you both.

Lost in thought, it’s not until he moves, stretching beside you, that you realize Dean is awake. The light reflects in his eyes, making them an incredibly warm, golden green. He blinks in the sunlight, half turning onto his back and rubbing his eyes.

“Morning,” he mumbles, voice thick with sleep.

You curl in on yourself, bringing your knees up and tucking your fists under your chin.

“Morning,” you say softly, “did you sleep well?”

“Yeah,” he sounds surprised, “I did. Uh, you?”

A loud crash makes you both jump, Dean sitting up quickly, swinging his legs over the side of the bed.

“It’s okay,” Gabe calls out, “we’re okay!”

Dean frowns, stretching his arms out and above his head with a yawn.

“Do you know what time it is?” he asks.

You look out the window, “Around noon.”

Dean hesitates, staring down at his lap. He pulls the blankets up to his chest, “Uh, really? Shit.”

“Have somewhere you need to be?” you tease, mouth quirking into a shy smile. It feels strange, almost exciting to be gently mocking him.

Dean smiles, arching his back, rolling his shoulders forward with another yawn, “I usually don’t sleep so long.”

Kevin appears in the doorway, stripped down to his underwear.

Dean stares at him for a moment, eyes round and wide, “Uh, Kev?”

The prophet looks down at his tight, powder blue bikini cut underwear, asking, “What?”

Dean shakes his head, “Nothing. Never mind.”

You pad softly across the room, pushing Kevin out of the way as you head to the bathroom.

***

Dean woke feeling more relaxed and well rested than he had in years. He couldn’t remember the last time he felt that way.

Seeing you next to him, sunlight creating a soft glow around you, stirred up a flurry of mixed emotions. You looked beautiful, peaceful and sweet. There was something in yours eyes, he thought it might be desire but that could just be an effect of waking in the same bed as a beautiful woman.

Reality came busting in too soon, creating havoc in his mind, as he was reminded of the situation that he and Sam were in.

Now, sitting here with Kevin standing in the doorway in his underwear, Dean feels a familiar weight settle over him, the peacefulness he felt moments ago fading fast.

“Heya Kevin,” he hears Sam say in the hall. His brother smiles down at Kevin, leaning against the door frame.

“Morning,” Sam says.

“Morning,” Dean replies gruffly.

Kevin shuffles away with a shrug of his shoulders, muttering to himself. Sam raises his eyebrows and shakes his head, walking into the room.

“Good night?” he asks.

Dean rubs a hand through his hair, “I should be asking you that.”

Sam looks around the room, swinging his arms, “I slept well.”

“You do realize that, regardless of the cute little meat suit, it’s Gabriel in there, right?”

Sam frowns, “Not really, I mean, it’s Gabriel but everyone here is different. Just look at Kevin…”

Dean shakes his head, “I just can’t…I would keep picturing the Trickster, you know?” He laughs.

“Well,” Sam lowers his voice, “we actually did talk….some. She’s going to take us to see Bobby today. She seemed really reluctant at first but, I don’t know Dean, I have a feeling there’s a lot more going on here than we realize…”

Sam trails off as you enter the room. You smile shyly at him, crossing your arms over your chest.

“Good morning Y/N,” Sam says, cheeks dimpling as he smiles, jamming his hands into the pockets of his jeans.

“Hey Sam,” you greet, gaze flicking between the brothers.

“What?” Dean asks, noticing.

You shake your head, “It’s just…you’re both so different.”

“In what way?” Dean asks, “More charming, right? I mean, I can’t imagine any version of me not having game and being…well…awesome, but who knows? Right?”

You laugh, “Right.”

“Well, breakfast is ready whenever you are,” Sam says. Hands still in his pockets, he brings his shoulders up, smile tight and shy. He swivels on his heels and walks out of the room.

You watch him go, fighting with that hollow sense of longing that has buried itself deep in your chest.

“Oh no,” Dean grumbles, getting up. He grabs his pants off the ground and starts getting dressed, “Don’t tell me you have a thing for Sam.”

Laughing, you walk over to the dresser, pulling out a clean shirt and pants.

“No,” you say, pulling your night shirt over your head.

Dean’s mouth drops open. It takes you a moment to appreciate the fact that you’re standing topless, in just your underwear, in front of a stranger.

“Oh shit,” you turn quickly, grabbing a bra from the open drawer. Your back to Dean, you slip it on quickly, pulling the clean t-shirt over your head.

Dean clears his throat, “S…sorry.”

“No, that was my fault, I forgot…” You hunt for a pair of clean pants and socks.

“I’ll…uh…go,” Dean clears his throat and hurries out of the room. Definitely not something the Dean you knew would have done.

***

“So, no meat, huh?” Dean says around a mouthful of bacon and eggs. He washes it down with a sip of coffee.

You pick at a bowl of strawberries and bananas, smiling, “No, I can’t metabolize it.”

“Is that your body then?” Sam asks, frowning at you.

Crowley is sitting on the couch in the living room across from Kevin. Kevin is sipping coffee through a large, swirly straw as the demon watches, looking disgusted.

“Not exactly,” you reply, “do you have faeries in your…world?”

Dean coughs. He pushes away from the table, bending over, choking and sputtering.

Sam pats him on the back, looking at Gabe, undisturbed, “He’ll be fine.”

Eyes red rimmed and watering, Dean nods, taking another drink from his coffee cup.

“You’re a faerie?” he says, voice strained.

“No,” you study him closely, wondering at his reaction, “I was going to say that, like angels, we’re beings of energy but more akin to faeries than angels. We originated on this planet.”

“They’re not corporeal beings,” Gabe chimes in. She’s sitting by Sam, feet resting in his lap. Her hair is loose around her shoulders. She threads her fingers through it.

“So, the body is not yours exactly? What does that mean?” Sam asks.

“Angels can take hosts, banishing the human soul from the body. I can animate a body but it needs to be…empty. It takes a lot of magic and my energy transforms it to suit certain abilities.”

“What abilities?” Sam leans forward over the table, animated and engaged. Dean seems to relax a little. Elbows on the table, he finishes off his coffee.

You glance at Crowley. Although he’s not looking your way, you can’t be sure he’s not listening.

“Healing…things like that,” you answer vaguely.

“We should get going,” Gabe says.

“Excellent idea,” Crowley says, pushing himself up off of the loveseat. He adjusts his jacket.

“You’re staying here,” Gabe says, “Kevin also.”

“What?” Kevin looks around the room, eyes settling on Crowley.

“Oh hell,” the demon mutters, rolling his eyes up to the ceiling, “thanks mother.”


	7. Chapter 7

“So, why do we need to ditch Kevin and Crowley?” Sam asks, following Gabe to the car. He takes a moment to look around, appreciating the scenery.

The cabin is in a clearing, about thirty feet from a small, fresh water lake. The water- gold, blue, and green- is still and tranquil, sunlight flickering across the surface.

“Wow,” the younger Winchester murmurs, distracted. He stares out over the lake. Dean stands beside him, hands in his pockets, silent.

You and Gabe, accustomed to the beauty and distracted by the task at hand, make your way to the car.

“Are you sure about this?” you whisper.

“He might be able to help,” Gabe replies, keeping her voice low.

“You know how Robert feels about the Winchesters,” keeping your eyes on them, you open the driver’s side door and slide in, leaving the door open and a foot on the ground.

Being out in the forest makes you feel light and energized; you want to prolong the feeling, wishing you could take even just a day to sit here, no worries, no work.

“Well, their “king of hell”,” Gabe makes exaggerated air quotes, “doesn’t seem to have any answers for us and Kevin…is Kevin. He’s not going to be useful until he has a vision.”

“Who else can we go to?” you ask, digging the toe of your boot into the dirt.

Gabe hesitates, “What about Castiel?”

Head snapping up, you glare at her, “You have got to be fucking kidding me!” You look over at Sam and Dean, heart hammering. “Do you want to get my ass killed?”

“He’s not going to kill you,” she soothes, the soft tone of her voice doing nothing to ease the tension in her face and doubt in her eyes.

“Right, because saying ‘I’m going to kill you, you little bitch’, was his way of telling me what? How much he appreciates my go getter attitude?”

“Oh come on, Y/N, it wasn’t that bad.”

“Were you fucking high when it happened? He was ready to redecorate the room with my insides!“

Gabe sighs, fidgeting. She’s wearing leggings and an oversized, knitted sweater. Her boots are bright pink and shiny. She digs around in her pockets, sighing and smiling when she finds a packet of candies.

Sam and Dean walk over slowly, heads bent together, talking.

***

“Are we really in a rush?” Sam says, rocking up on his toes and back on his heels.

“What?” Dean looks up at him, surprised.

“I mean,” he points to Dean’s arm, “you don’t have the mark and…well…what are we going back to?”

Dean opens his mouth to say something but closes it, considering.

“Alright, I admit, we’re not exactly rushing back to a big, family welcome. But there are two guys who look like us, one possibly carrying the mark, in our reality,” Dean says, trying to organize his warring thoughts, “not to mention the fact that since Crowley is here…who is in charge of hell back home? And, there’s always that big, sweet pie in the sky kicker that we can’t forget,” Dean pauses, “they hunt humans, Sammy. Humans.”

Sam looks over his shoulder at you and Gabe.

“Yeah,” he sighs, “but do we know for sure that we were switched out? Maybe they just, I don’t Dean, vanished?”

“Are you kidding me right now?” Dean scowls at Sam.

Sam shrugs, “All I’m saying is that we can take our time figuring this out. Who knows, it might be a good thing?”

“This is about her and you getting laid last night, isn’t it?” Dean points at Gabe.

Sam smacks Dean’s hand down.

He presses his lips into a thin line and crosses his arms over his chest, “So what if it is? For the first time in, in months, you don’t look like you want to go balls out into a murderous rampage and, yeah, she’s fun. I had fun. Shoot me!”

He turns and stalks to the car, head down. Dean hesitates, looking back over the lake for a moment longer, before following his brother.

***

“Everything alright?” Gabe calls out, forehead creased in worry as Sam stalks over, expression sombre.

“Peachy,” Dean mutters, pausing in front of the car.

Sam pulls open the rear passenger side door and gets in, slamming the door shut behind him.

With a quick look at you, Gabe shrugs and gets into the back beside Sam. Dean closes his eyes for a moment, hesitating before getting in to the passenger’s seat.

“I normally do the driving,” he murmurs darkly, sliding his hands over his thighs.

You look over your shoulder at Gabe, biting back a smile, “Grumpy Dean,” you say, laughing, “I kind of like grumpy Dean, it’s cute.”

Sam scoffs, “You’ve got to be kidding me. You’ve never seen Dean pout?”

“Uh…no,” you look at Sam, “he’s not really the pouting type.”

“Excuse me,” Dean grumbles, turning to scowl at Sam “I am not pouting! I just,” avoiding eye contact, he gestures to the steering wheel, “I feel like I’m being carted around.”

“And now he’s talking about feelings,” Gabe giggles, “I have to admit, I’m starting to like this Dean too.”

“Oh yes,” Sam relaxes in the back seat, teasing, “Dean loves talking about his feelings.”

“And your Dean is so great?” Dean asks.

“Not really, no.” Gabe’s voice is soft. She looks down at her hands in her lap, picking at her purple nail polish.

Everyone is quiet for a moment, the only sound the gentle hum of birds and insects.

You swallow, reluctantly lifting your leg into the car and closing the door. You start the engine, pulling around the cabin and heading out to the road in uncomfortable silence.

***

“So, uh, why do we need to leave Kevin and Crowley behind?” Sam asks.

“Demons don’t really wander around unless they have a specific task,” Gabe explains, “and never dressed the way he is.”

“And Kevin?”

You laugh, “He’s not very reliable…or useful most of the time. Great guy, just a bit of a mess.”

Sam clears his throat and licks his lips. He rubs his hands together, looking at the back of Dean’s head as though willing his brother to turn or speak.

“We’re going to see Bobby?” he asks, looking quickly at Gabe.

She nods, “Uh huh,” avoiding Sam’s gaze.

“What does…uh…what does Bobby do?”

You look at Gabe in the rear view mirror, hoping she’ll field the question but she’s staring stubbornly out the window.

“Import export,” Gabe says after what seems like a bit too long. She rolls her eyes up to look at the ceiling.

“So, what’s your home like?”

Sam stares at the back of Dean’s head, pressing his lips together, hands folded between his legs. “It’s,” he clears his throat, “busy, a bit chaotic at times but…”

You grip the steering wheel, mind wandering as Gabe chats with the Winchesters. Their reality- dimension, home, whatever it is- doesn’t sound all that different from here and now; individuals trying to make the world a better place for its inhabitants. The concept is the same if their definition of monsters is a bit skewed.

The difference you can’t get over is in the very Winchesters themselves. The Sam and Dean you know are brutal- especially Dean. They follow orders with military precision. They live for the job. It’s the reason that Michael assigned you to them in the first place.

Workwise, it’s perfect. They do what they’re told as quickly as possible and with minimal support from the outside. Sam has an incredibly sharp mind for strategy and planning, never missing a detail. Dean is unfailingly loyal, brilliant with machinery, and will do whatever it takes to get the job done.

“You good?” Dean asks.

He’s watching you. You drum your fingers on the steering wheel and lick your lips, suddenly self-conscious.

“Fine.”

“Is Bobby’s place much farther?” He looks down at his hands in his lap, tracing the outline of an Enochian sigil on his right palm.

A knot forms between your shoulders, “No, we’ll be there soon.”

Sam and Gabe talk softly in the back, heads close. You steal glance at them in the mirror, studying her. She plays an exceptionally good game but as hard as you try, you don’t see any of her usual tells. She seems to, genuinely, be having a good time.

“Not much for small talk, are you?” Dean says, voice low.

You snort derisively, “Force of habit. You’re not really the chatty type.”

Taking your eyes off the road for a moment, you glance at him. He almost looks sad.

“This Dean sounds like an asshole.”

“Oh you have no idea,” Gabe chimes in.

“Well, I’m not him,” Dean pulls at his sleeve, still inspecting his tattoos.

“Hey Sammy,” he says, “you, uh, check yourself out? These marks and sigils, they don’t look right.”

Sam leans forward between the seats, looking down at Dean’s left forearm.

“I seem to mostly have Enochian script,” the younger Winchester says, “I have a few sigils on my chest but I haven’t taken a good look at them yet. Hunh,” he studies the tattoo, “you’re right.”

Dean traces the sigil etched into his forearm, “It looks like a devil’s trap but the double stars and this,” he runs his thumb over an unfamiliar mark, “I don’t recognize this. Any ideas?”

Sam shakes his head, “Nothing I recognize off hand.” He shifts over to make room for Gabe.

“That’s the symbol for the sun,” she says, “representing Michael.”

“Alright, might be a stupid question, but humour me,” Dean turns in his seat to look at Gabe, “why do I have a devil’s trap tattoo and what does Michael have to do with it?”

“First of all,” she replies softly, shooting a quick glance your way, “it’s not a devil’s trap, it’s a…uh…like a contract. It…” she looks up at Sam, suddenly hesitant, “it’s…”

“It indentures you in servitude to the angels. Michael’s symbol is there representing your loyalty to him,” you say firmly. “You entered into the contract willingly.”

“Son of a bitch,” Dean mutters, rubbing at the skin with a look of distaste, “I’m a servant?”

“More of a willing and eager ally,” Gabe says, tone deceptively light.

“So, I traded in one mark damning me to hell for another binding me to a life of serving junkless, feathered…”

“We’re here!” Gabe sings out, clapping her hands. She sits back heavily, brow creased uncharacteristically with worry.

Sam tugs the hems of his jacket over his t-shirt as he sits back. You pull into the long laneway that leads up to Bobby’s house, shoulders tight.

Dean looks back at Sam, opening his mouth to say something. He seems to think better of it, turning back to look out the window. He fidgets in his seat and you can’t help but wonder what his relationship with Robert Singer is like where he’s from.

You don’t have time to wonder long. As the house comes into view, your breathing becomes shallower as you tense up.

Noticing, Dean asks, “You alright?”

Pulling up behind a dark blue truck, you park and cut the engine, rolling your shoulders down and back. You take a long, deep breath, closing your eyes.

“Are, uh, are we going in?” Sam asks.

Opening your eyes, you shake your head, “We are but you two need to stay in the car until we come get you.”

“What? Why?” Dean asks.

“Because Robert hates you.”

You regret saying it the moment the words leave your mouth. Dean looks like he’s been slapped; the shock and hurt on his face painfully clear.

“Alright,” Sam says, a bit unsteadily, “we’ll wait here.”

Unable to look Dean in the eyes, you open the door and get out, slamming it shut behind you. Determined to get this over with, you stalk up to the house, not waiting for Gabe.

Robert Singer’s house is a simple, two and a half storey, blue farm house. It’s clean with a quaint wrap around porch, white shutters, and a welcome matt at the front door. You walk up the steps and onto the porch, slowing when you hear more than one car door open and close.

Dean is standing beside the car, staring up at the house. Gabe folds her arms over her chest as Sam gets out, joining his brother. He leans in close, talking softly into Dean’s ear.

The front door bursts open, Robert stomping out with a shotgun raised, pointed at the brothers. He looks at you, hissing, “What the hell where you thinking bringing them here?”


	8. Chapter 8

“Mr. Singer, please,” you hold your hands up, taking a half step back when the barrel of a rifle inches through the doorway.

“Are you kidding me Y/N?” the woman says, pressing her cheek into the butt of her weapon to look through the sight.

“Are they armed?” Robert asks.

“No.”

“Bullshit,” he spits, shooting you a dark, angry look, “what the hell is the meaning of this, kid? I expect this shit from the angels but not from you. You should know better.”

Dean and Sam are standing close together, hands in the air, staring up at the Singers. Sam’s mouth open and closes, his throat working around unformed words. Dean’s jaw is clenched tight, eyes half closed. You’re not sure if it’s his expression or your reaction to it that shocks you more.

“It’s not what it looks like. Please, give me a chance to explain.”

“Get them the hell out of here,” Robert says, “and I’ll give you all the time in the world.”

“They’re not…”

“You heard him,” Ellen hisses, moving forward quickly. She stops at the top of the stairs, “Get the hell out of here you goddamn vermin.”

Sam and Dean look to one another and back at Ellen, expressions filled with anguish. It’s not a look you, or anyone else, has ever seen on them. Ellen falters, lowering her weapon.

“What’s wrong with them?” she asks, she looks at her husband then back over at the Winchesters.

“Bobby,” she says softly, “let’s go inside, I think we need to hear what she has to say.”

Despite the beard and tightly clenched jaw, you see the slight tremble in Robert’s mouth, his eyes glisten with unshed tears and his shoulders move up and down with quick, shallow breaths.

“They stay put,” he says, lowering his shotgun, eyes never leaving the Winchesters.

***

The Singer’s kitchen is an incredibly comforting place and holds innumerable good memories for you. It’s been the same since you can remember; soft blue wallpaper printed with tiny white and yellow flowers, warm golden wood for the cabinets, table and chairs, white lace curtains in the windows.

Unlike the rest of the common rooms downstairs- packed with books, ritual items, and hidden nooks filled with an arsenal of weapons- this room is for family. It’s bright and smells of coffee and cinnamon, sage and lemon. You take it as a good sign that they brought you in here.

Ellen motions for you to sit. It’s strange to feel nervous in this place, with these people, but these are not normal circumstances. Ellen sits in the chair next to you, elbows on the table, hands folded in front of her. She’s watching you. Robert paces restlessly, stopping often to look out the window that overlooks the driveway.

“What’s going on?” Ellen asks softly.

“Why the hell would you bring them here?” Robert grips the back of a chair, staring at you. You keep your head down, staring at your hands in your lap.

“Something happened, I’m not sure what but it seems like Sam and Dean,” you chance a look at Ellen who watches you closely, “the Winchesters we know, seem to have been switched out by…” you close your eyes and give your head a quick shake, trying to wrap your mind around it, “by alternate versions of themselves.”

“What the hell do you mean, alternate versions?” Robert shouts. Ellen hushes him.

“I don’t know. Kevin said he felt something, he thinks they were switched out by a spell cast from an alternate dimension.”

“What a load of hogwash,” Robert resumes pacing, crossing an arm over his chest and rubbing a hand over his cheeks and chin.

“Sounds pretty far-fetched,” Ellen says softly, dipping her head to catch your gaze, “but I know you wouldn’t bring them here, not for nothing.”

Knowing what this cost them, you look at Ellen, pained.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know where else to go.”

Robert stops pacing, turning to you, “Damn it kid,” he says, voice strained, “you know we love you like our own. This is…shit.” He adjusts his dirty ball cap.

Ellen leans back in her chair, looking up at her husband, “There’s too much at stake not to try and figure this out. If it’s true, it could be a great thing for us or it could mess everything up. Y/N, what are these boys like?”

You feel your eyes widen, “Nothing like the Sam and Dean we know.”

“Well, that’s the first good thing I’ve heard all day!”

***

Dean and Sam look up as you step outside, Robert and Ellen following behind.

Robert gives Ellen’s hand a quick squeeze.

Dean, leaning against the car, pushes himself off. He uncrosses his arms and takes a few quick steps towards the Singers, stopping when you give him a quick shake of your head. Sam is more reserved but you can see the eagerness in the way he watches the couple, the tension in his muscles evidence of the amount of restraint he’s exercising.

Gabe is sitting in the car, legs dangling out. Although she seems uninterested, you know she doesn’t miss a thing.

Robert and Ellen look at each other, stopping about ten feet from Dean. Ellen stares openly at him while Robert looks everywhere but.

Dean pulls at the hem of his jacket, fidgeting slightly, “Bobby,” he says gruffly, “Ellen…uh…Gabrielle explained and…uh…” tears fill his eyes and he rubs a hand over his face. Dean turns to look at his brother.

“I don’t really know what to say,” Sam admits, long arms out wide. “Where we’re from,” Sam swallows hard, “Bobby is…was like a father to us and Ellen…and Jo…”

Dean’s face crumples. He stuffs his hands into his pockets, scuffing his boots in the gravel. He hunches his shoulders, biting hard on his lower lip.

You want to do something, to comfort him somehow but it’s such a strange feeling to have towards someone you have never had these feelings for. His vulnerability is so foreign that even Ellen and Robert look shocked and uneasy.

Sam crosses his arms over his chest, “They’re our family,” he chokes out.

Gabe gets up and closes the door gently behind her, coming to stand next to you.

“I told them about Jo, glossed over the details though,” she whispers.

“I got that,” you mutter.

“Alright, well,” Ellen speaks up, the edge in her voice telling you she’s barely holding it together, “you…you boys come in and we’ll try and get this sorted out.”

“Can I…I just need a minute,” Dean says. Sam is already following the Singers up to the house.

Robert stops and nods, eyes on you, he says, “Take the time you need.”

Gabe follows Sam.

“Want to walk a bit?” you ask Dean, taking a look up at the darkening sky, “we’ve got about half an hour before it starts to rain. I’m sure your brother can fill them in.”

Dean nods, wiping quickly at his cheeks.

***

You walk slowly down the familiar path to the junkyard. Dean is quiet, lost in thought. He stares at his boots, glancing up now and then with a pained expression.

“It’s so familiar,” he whispers, “but different in the most fucked up ways.”

“I know the feeling,” you admit, earning a wry smile.

“What happened with Jo? Gabe just told us that we were at fault.”

The question makes your gut tighten. You force yourself to take a long, deep breath.

Dean stops, turning to you. When he reaches out to take your arms, you flinch.

“He’s that bad, huh?”

You shake your head, “He’s efficient and good at his job; not exactly the affectionate type.”

His lips stretch into a half smile, lines forming beside his mouth and crinkling around his eyes. You fidget, taking your bottom lip between your teeth. An unfamiliar sensation blooms in the centre of your chest, warm and bubbly like laughter.

“And you are?” you tease.

“I’ve been known to snuggle. I’m actually a bit of a hugger too.”

You throw your head back and laugh, loud. It’s so foreign that you stop short and look around, giggling softly behind your hand.

“What?” Dean asks, “You not allowed to laugh?”

Sputtering, you frown, breaking into a smile but reining it in to scowl at him, “I have a reputation to uphold.”

“Let me guess. Big, bad hunter?”

You gasp theatrically, “How did you know?”

He crosses his arms over his chest, “I happen to be the biggest and baddest. Well, maybe not the biggest, damn Sam and his long legs.”

Mood dampening, you clench your jaw and start back down along the path, trying not to let it show. You walk quietly for a bit, worrying over how to say what needs to be said.

“About Jo; we weren’t even on a hunt,” you begin, licking your lips and tasting dust from the trail, “we were down south, moving cargo…”

“You mean people?”

He’s walking next to you, so close that the fabric of his jacket brushes against you. Your heart beats a little faster.

“People, yes.”

“Where do they go?”

You ignore the question, listening for a moment to the loud hum of the cicadas.

“It was late and, well, it’s not easy to go unnoticed when you’re travelling with the Winchesters. Jo was taken. They were trying to get to you and Sam.”

“Taken by who?”

“Believe it or not, there are plenty of…monsters out there who value human life. Angels and demons too. Some of them work together, like The Zvil’nennya, some are vigilantes. The group that took Jo, we’ve encountered them a few times. They’re…” you close your eyes, shaking your head, “brutal. They tortured her, hoping to smoke you, the brothers, out. It didn’t work.”

Dean stops. He stares off, looking not out at the border of trees lining the edge of the property but somewhere inside of himself.

“They let her die?” his voice is hollow, distant.

“Yes.”

Taking a shallow breath, he looks at you, “You were there?”

Swallowing hard, you rub at your wrists. The marks are no longer there. There are no longer marks on your elbows, ankles, or around your knees from the rough rope. Your skin healed but you can still feel them. Dean notices.

“I was.”

“How long did they have her?”

There’s a change in him. His shoulders back and jaw tight, he leans toward you, watching you closely.

“About two weeks until we stopped hearing from them.”

“And by that time where were you?”

“Back here,” you murmur.

“They had her, tortured her for weeks and the brothers did nothing?”

“Sam was able to pinpoint the location of their camp from the messages and info coming from other sources. A team was sent but by that time…”

“By that time, all that was left was a body, am I right?”

You nod.

“Son of a bitch,” Dean mutters, turning in a half circle, “I would love to meet these fuckers.”

A drop of rain falls onto the toe of your boot, fat and heavy.

“We should get back,” Dean says, glancing up at the sky.

You shake your head, “There’s still time.”

“I’m guessing that you didn’t try to save her because you couldn’t,” he turns to walk back the way you came, “but why stay? Why stay with them?”

He stops when he notices you’re not following.

“They’ll kill me if I don’t and, for now, I want to live.”


	9. Chapter 9

Dean walks into the house tentatively, looking around and taking it all in. You hang out on the porch for a moment, delaying being indoors. The rain starts, just a few heavy drops building quickly to a downpour.

The air is humid and charged with electricity. You feel the buildup in your skin, fingertips tingling as the first crack of thunder rumbles across the sky. You’re tempted to run out into the rain. 

 

Fingers close gently around you wrist. You pull away fast, stumbling, staring open mouthed at Dean.

 

“Sorry,” he says over the torrent, “I called your name…”

 

His eyes are bright green, brow creased, eyebrows lowered in concern. You don’t know if you’ll get used to it, know you shouldn’t. He doesn’t belong here.

 

You see Gabe in the doorway. She has a glass of bright green pop in one hand.

 

“You two coming in?” she calls out over the heavy beat of the rain on the roof, smiling at you.

 

“In a minute. How’s it going in there?”

 

Her expression shifts, eyes soft and sad, “On the surface, Sam is doing well but…he seems to be having a hard time with this, with them.”

 

Dean nods his head slowly. With a look over his shoulder at you, he says, “I should be in there with him.”

 

He brushes past Gabe on his way into the house, pausing a moment when she gives his arm a quick squeeze. Gabrielle steps out of the house. The screen door squeals loudly as it closes, slamming hard into the frame.

 

She takes a sip of her drink, watching the rain fall. You step closed to the railing, letting the soft spray hit your face. The air smells of rich, dark soil and ozone.

 

“I like him.”

 

“No shit,” you say, closing your eyes and leaning further out. Rain hits your face, wetting your skin and hair.

 

“Dean too, he’s nice. Kind and gentle.”

 

“They don’t belong here, Gabe. And what we’re doing, everything we’ve worked for, we can’t screw up now,” you pull away and turn to face her, rubbing an arm quickly over your face, “what if Lucifer finds out? Or worse, Michael?”

 

Gabrielle shrugs, “We’re not scheduled to see them…”

 

“Time, Gabe, it’s only a matter of time. We don’t know that we can trust them and…” you shake your head, “we can’t ask the others to.”

 

“Isn’t that why we’re here?” she sets her empty glass down on the railing, stretching an arm out to let the rain fall on her fingers and hand.

 

“No,” you raise your voice, frustrated at your jumbled thoughts and warring emotions, “no that’s not why we’re here. We’re here to see if Robert and Ellen can help us figure out what happened and to undo it.”

 

Gabe nods slowly. She rubs her hand on her sweater, “Alright then.”

 

***

 

Ellen is sitting in Robert’s old armchair. Hands resting in her lap, her head is tilted slightly to the side as she listens to Sam speak. 

 

Sam is sitting on a foot stool across from her, leaning forward, elbows resting on his knees. Dean is standing behind his brother, scanning the titles of a bookcase. Built around a window with a seat, the bookcase spans the entire wall, floor to ceiling. He pulls a book out, opens it, and thumbs through the pages.

 

Sam is recounting the last things he remembers before ending up here.

 

“Did you notice anything? Feel anything peculiar?” Ellen asks.

 

“Coming up behind you, kid,” you hear Robert call out. Turning, you see him walk out of the kitchen with a tray of drinks; two steaming mugs of tea and three glasses of amber liquid you guess must be whiskey.

 

Stepping back into the hall, you give him room to manoeuvre by. He stops by you, nodding towards one of the mugs, “That one’s yours.”

 

You take the mug with a small smile of thanks, dipping your head to breathe in the warm, comforting scent of the herbal tea.

 

“Thanks.”

 

Robert presses his lips together, catching your gaze. He nods and you feel yourself relax, relieved that he’s not angry with you.

 

Gabe comes out of the kitchen, her glass refilled with acid green pop. She sits down on the floor by Sam.

 

“It’s hard to say,” Sam looks back at Dean, “we were just in from a…from working. It was our first night in the motel room and I didn’t really notice anything out of place. We usually do a sweep for things like hex bags…”

 

Dean snaps the book shut. He looks at the tray, picking up the mug of tea despite Robert’s protest. Bringing it up to his nose, he takes a deep breath.

 

“What is this? Mint and..”

 

Ellen looks at Robert, then back at Dean again, saying, “It’s a custom blend. Mint, lavender, and mugwort.”

 

“Mugwort?” Sam asks, taking the mug from Dean and inhaling the aromatic steam.

 

“It’s good for detoxing and…” she glances at Robert again, “it’s supposed to ward off evil.”

 

“Is it used for anything else?” Sam reaches across to hand the mug to Ellen.

 

“Kevin…uh…smokes it sometimes,” you say, “it helps him with visions.”

 

“Aren’t you supposed to drink it in a tea?” Robert asks, handing a glass of whiskey to Sam. 

 

Sam looks up at him, holding his gaze for a moment, “Thank you for this, truly.”  
Robert dismisses him with a half-hearted grunt, holding a glass out for Dean who smiles to himself.

 

Gabe shrugs, “Kevin prefers to smoke his herbs.”

 

Ellen gets up from her chair. She sets her mug down on top of a stack of books covering a small end table. Picking her way across the room, she stops in front of the bookcase, scanning the titles. Lifting herself onto her toes, she pulls a book down, turns it in her hands, and opens it to the index.

 

“The tea,” Sam explains, “I recognize the scent of mint and lavender but the mugwort, I’ve smelled it before but didn’t recognize it.”

 

Dean nods, “Right before we were beamed aboard this ship.”

 

Sam shifts to scowl at his brother. Dean shrugs and takes a sip of whiskey.

 

“Mugwort,” Ellen reads aloud, “commonly used for detoxification, to help in digestion and menstruation. Also used in compresses…” Ellen mumbles softly to herself, going through t a list of uses, “huh, can help in astral projection.”  
She looks at the boys, “Could be a lead, possibly help explain how you ended up here in another body.”

 

“But you can’t project someone else out of their body,” Sam protests. Looking at Ellen, he asks, “Can you?”

 

“I don’t know. I’ve never heard of it but I also don’t know much about where you’re from, apart from what you’ve told me. Things could be different there.”

 

Dean shakes his head, “Nothing we’ve ever heard of either.”

 

“You said it was possibly a witch, ah, Rowena?” Robert asks. He sits on the window seat, taking a sip of his drink. “How much do you know about her?”

 

“Not much,” Sam says, “we had a run in with her once. She’s pretty powerful and seems to have a grudge against Crowley for some reason.”

 

“Crowley is the demon you mentioned?” Ellen asks, sitting back down. She looks down into her mug thoughtfully.

 

“How is it that you boys hunt demons and ended up working with,” Robert twists his mouth as though the words themselves are distasteful, “the king of hell.”

 

Sam and Dean raise their eyebrows, shrug, and take a quick sip of their respective drinks. With a faraway look in his eyes, Sam says, “It’s a long story.”

 

Robert rubs a hand over his beard, “And no idea if Dean and Sam, the ones who belong here, ended up in your bodies?”

 

“No way for us to know,” Sam admits.

 

“Alright, well, we definitely have some resources that you’re welcome to use,” Ellen gestures towards the bookcase, “and a small library spread throughout the house. Believe it or not, there is order to the chaos.” She looks up at her husband, “We have a few contacts we could touch base with.”

 

“Probably best if we do that ourselves,” Robert says.

 

Ellen nods, “Who knows about this?”

 

“Just us,” Gabe says, “and Kevin.”

 

“Have you thought about what you’re going to do about the higher ups in your chain of command?” Robert asks. He stands in the doorway, leaning against the wall.

 

You find yourself at a loss. It’s a question you’ve been asking yourself all day, worry twisting in your gut like a living thing, working its way through you.

 

Gabe shakes her head, “Avoid them at all cost?”

 

“How closely do…uh…Sam and Dean work with Lucifer and Michael?” Sam asks, gaze flicking between you, Robert and Ellen.

 

“You, well, Sam works quite a bit with Lucifer. He helps plan out sweeps and logistics- locations to recon, resistant activity, reports of human settlements, how best to,” you clear your throat, tightening your grip on the mug, “eradicate threats and move cargo.”

 

“And me?” Dean asks. You’re starting to recognize small habits, the way he stands when he’s irritated. Shoulders back, chin forward, head down- he’s angry but reigning it in.

 

“Aside from working closely with Sam and providing manpower, Dean helps Michael liaise with other species and sort humans,” Robert fields the question. You let out a small breath of relief.

 

“Sort?” The frown lines between Dean’s brows are tight and he blinks quickly.

 

“Decide how best to use them.” Robert’s tone is flat, his expression unreadable.

Sam waves a hand in the air, “Look,” he closes his eyes a moment, pressing his lips into a tight line, “this situation sucks for everyone involved. Let’s just,” he looks up at Dean, “try and get past the issue. Bobby and Ellen are willing to help,” he pleads, “let’s meet them half way.”

 

Robert and Ellen exchange a look. Robert backs out of the room, downing the last of the whiskey in his glass. With a quick look at the brothers, Ellen gets up and follows him out murmuring, “Excuse me a moment.”

 

Sam and Dean watch them go. You sit on the bench at the window, rolling your head to the side to stretch a kink out of your neck.

 

“How much time do we have?” Sam asks, looking down at Gabe.

 

“We usually have a bit of downtime between hunts but,” she shifts to look at you solemnly, “our last shipment didn’t go so well. We need to make up for it.”

 

“I need to make up for it. I fucked up,” you say, setting your empty mug down by your feet.

 

“I’m afraid to ask,” Dean finishes off his drink.

 

“Two angels were killed and about half a dozen Annunaki. It was my fault.” You massage the back of your neck, rubbing at the knot forming.

 

“And the…uh…cargo?” Sam asks.

 

“All dead,” Gabe replies.

 

“Y/N?” Ellen steps in the room, “could you…” she tilts her head, arms crossed over her chest.

 

You nod, giving Dean a tight smile when he looks your way, and slide off the bench. Dean takes your place as you follow Ellen out into the hall.

 

She leads the way to Robert’s study. The room is small and packed with books. His large, scarred mahogany desk is littered with statues, feathers, stones, a rusty knife, papers, and pens. Robert is pacing in front of a cold fireplace, hands clasped behind his back.

Ellen moves to stand by a window overlooking the front yard. It’s still early spring and the rain is cooling the air down quickly. Ellen’s breath fogs the glass. She pulls away.

 

“This is a fine mess,” Robert mutters, still pacing, eyes on his floor.

 

“Do you trust them?” Ellen asks.

 

You close your eyes and run a hand over your forehead. Every muscle is tense and the knot of worry is starting to make you feel ill.

 

“I don’t know, I really don’t.”

 

“We can’t kill them,” Robert says, “but we can’t just go on as if nothing happened either.”

 

Feeling heavy and weary, you sit in a hard, wooden chair by the door.  
Knowing you won’t be overheard, you say, “The only option I think we have is to figure this out as quickly as possible and send them back to where they came from.”

 

“Alright, so now we need to figure out who we can trust to help,” Elle agrees.

 

“If we tell Michael…” Robert pulls out the chair from behind his desk and sits.

 

“He’ll pull the Winchesters and replace them with someone else, someone we don’t know,” you finish for him. You didn’t miss the fact that Robert said ‘we’. You feel yourself relax, if just a little.

 

“We have some contacts in the wiccan community,” Ellen says, “I can make a few calls.”

 

“I’ll look through some books, see if I can’t find something,” Robert adds. “In the meantime, you need to figure out what to do with that demon.”

 

Ellen frowns, “He seems to be the only one with any idea what’s going on. Maybe,” shoulders tight, she lets out a huff, “bring him here.”

 

Robert shoots a hard look at his wife but doesn’t say anything.

 

“We can put him downstairs,” she explains, “that way, if he doesn’t want to talk, at least we know he isn’t going anywhere.”

 

***

 

Relaying the plan to the Winchesters, you’re surprised when Sam eagerly volunteers to help Robert with research. Dean offers to help, but with a little less enthusiasm.

 

“I’ll need to go get the demon,” you say, “we know Kevin won’t say anything…”

 

“It’s still best to keep him close,” Gabrielle suggests. You nod.

 

“I can come with,” Dean steps forward, “for the drive. Crowley can be a bit difficult when he wants to be.”

 

Gabe catches your eye and nods.

 

You’re slow to agree, wanting a bit of time to yourself to think this through. 

 

“Um,” Gabe says, “are you expecting visitors?”

 

Robert and Ellen exchange a glance, Robert hurrying to the door to look out.

Gabe moves aside, eyes downcast, avoiding you.

 

“Shit,” he spits, turning to Ellen.

 

“What now?” Ellen asks.

 

“It’s Castiel.”


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Little bit of smut and violence

“We need to go out the back,” you gasp, grabbing Dean’s arm. Ellen and Robert move quickly, Robert leading the way down the hall, Ellen pushing Dean to follow you.

“What? Why?” Dean looks bewildered. He doesn’t move despite your urging and Ellen’s shoves, pushing you out of the way to look out the window.

“Hey, Castiel is a good friend of ours,” Sam says, moving beside his brother.

Robert looks at him, “Not in this lifetime, you’re not. And whatever don’t-give-a-fuck attitude he might have about the two of you,” he points at you, “he really has a hate on for that one.”

Dean’s still frowning, refusing to move.

“Please,” you slide your fingers into the palm of his hand, trying not to notice how large it is, warm and dry, “questions later.”

“Y/N,” Ellen calls out, “there’s a truck out back,” she tosses you a set of keys. You catch them, pulling hard on Dean when you see Castiel get out of his car. The angel doesn’t seem to notice the rain. His dark hair, thick and unruly, slicks down, quickly soaked. He looks off to the side, staring at your car, hands stuffed into the pockets of a worn, black leather motorcycle jacket.

Eyebrows lowering and pressing close together, Dean purses his lips and stumbles after you, eyes still on the angel.

You resist the urge to give in to balls-out panic. The past two days have been unreal and the hits just seem to keep coming. Dragging Dean down the hall and to the right through a small mudroom, bile rises in your throat when you pull open the door and pull the hunter outside.

Rain pours down, heavy, soaking you within seconds of being outside. Letting go of Dean’s hand, you run behind the garage, eyeing the brown truck with trepidation. Rusty patches held together with tape and a whole lot of hope, the tail gate is missing and the tires are almost bald. Hurrying to the driver’s side, you yank the door open and jump in. Heart pounding, you jam the key in the ignition, close your eyes, and turn it. The engine sputters and squeals to life.  
Dean opens the passenger side door and slides in, “Are you going to tell me what this is about?”

You put the truck in reverse before he has a chance to close his door and ease onto a path that leads through the back fields.

“The run I mentioned, the one I fucked up,” you glance at him, “one of the angels that was killed was Castiel’s second in command.

 

***  
One month ago

The hand on the back of your neck applies enough pressure to press your face into the cold metal of the door and hold you there, but not enough to hurt. You feel his breath on the back of your neck, quick puffs as he grunts and pants.

You bite down on your lower lip to stifle your own gasps. Pants pooled around your ankles, you push your ass back into Dean’s hips. He presses himself close, leaning his chest against your back and moaning low, he comes. Dean slows his pace, stopping with one last, shuddering breath.

He lets go of your neck, pulling out quickly. By the time you turn, he’s pulling up his pants, grinning at you as he zips his fly. With a wink, he fastens his button and takes off, bounding down the stairwell.

You reach down to pull up your pants, stopping half way to rifle through a pack of supplies for something to clean yourself with. You know the moment you hear a boot scuffing the pavement that Julian is giving you fair warning. He rounds the corner just as you’re zipping your pants up. He looks away, one hand on his hip, the other covering his mouth.

“We set?” he says, moving forward but not looking your way. He looks over his shoulder, mouth set in a hard, thin line.

“You know it.”

“Y/N,” Sam calls out, “let’s go.”

 

***

Sam flattens the map out on the floor, running his palms over the paper to smooth the creases out. Dean is crouched down beside his brother, running a thumb over his lips as Sam explains.

“The river,” he indicates, “runs south through Rayburn. Human activity has been reported along the left bank. There’s forest for cover,” he points to a green area, “and with the fresh water, it’s a good place to hunker down.”

“Who reported the activity?” you ask.

Sam gives you a tight smile, “My sources.” 

You roll your eyes, trying to convey a sense of apathy you don’t feel. This is a huge run with a lot on the line. For the Winchesters, it’s routine and Sam loves nothing more than being in control. Gabe leans close, the move imperceptible to everyone but you. She knows you’re anxious. The show of support has the desired effect, the tense muscles in your neck and shoulders easing.

Sam gathers the map up, folding it carefully, “We move in ten.”

Gabe gets up, stretching her legs out. She tears the top off a brightly coloured packet sprinkling the contents into her mouth. She smiles at you, candy popping and fizzing, teeth orange.

The team mills around, stocking the truck, checking kit and gear.

You adjust a strap on your leg holster, watching the support crew. Castiel leans over Samandriel, frowning at the computer screen as the latter explains something in a low voice.

Virgil clears a rifle before handing it over to Hester. He instructs a small group of Annunaki to hand out smoke grenades, muttering, “Smoke the rats out.”

Julian grabs a box of grenades to hand out to your section.

“Alright,” Dean calls everyone to attention, “Delta team is with Y/N, Echo with Sam, Foxtrot on me. We leave in five.”

***

It’s a fairly routine run for the team. With all of the intel and planning, it should go smoothly. Rear support has eyes on the river, Dean is coming up from the south as Sam flanks the camp from the west. You lead your group in from the north, picking your way quickly through the thick underbrush. Rear support dropped you five klicks out, your team humping in the remaining distance to minimize the chance of being spotted. The terrain to the north of the suspected camp is rough bush and difficult to navigate for most.

“Y/N,” Hester calls in a hushed voice, “slow it up a bit.” She mutters a few expletives and something about ‘this godforsaken rock’. It’s not her first run but she’s still green and not accustomed to the environment. Being Castiel’s second-in-command gives her pull and a goddamn inflated sense of importance but not the skill and experience that time-in does. You prefer your troops seasoned. She begged to come on this run and as much as you don’t like it, you can’t argue with Castiel. Well you can, and do, for all the good that it does.

You stop, skin prickling with irritation. The plastic handguard of the rifle crackles under your tight grip. The warm metal of the weapon releases the smell of CLP. You grind your teeth and make a conscientious effort to slow your pace, breathing in the scent of the forest to try and centre yourself.

You’ve earned your reputation and position because of a specific skill set; you’re unmatched as a tracker. As a sylph your connection to nature and, more particularly, the element of air, gives you an extraordinary sixth sense. You can pinpoint exactly where everyone in your team is; their position, how far behind they are, how fast they’re moving. Pushing your senses forward, you know where the human camp is, body count, activity.

Sweat drips down from under your cap. Flicking your tongue out, you taste the salt on your lips, attention on keeping your pace slow. On top of being an ace tracker, you also happen to be a stellar runner and exceptional at navigating through rough terrain. It takes all your will and focus to rein it in.

The camp is close and you know there is a sentry about two hundred meters ahead. You raise your right arm, motioning for the team to stop, and take a knee. Julian eases up beside you. He presses his body close, heat radiating from him. He looks over his shoulder at Hester, turning back to you, eyes glistening in the dark.

Hunt, a large Annunaki, murmurs, “Orders coming down to move in.”

You nod and start forward in a low crouch, eyes scanning the dark. The sentry moves, joined by another. You hold two fingers up, pointing to the east close to the river. Julian nods, moving behind you and off to the left, his tall figure quickly swallowed up by the foliage and darkness.

“Send me in,” Hester calls out, too loudly. The crack of the rifle is so sudden that you almost stumble. There’s a soft grunt behind you, a flash of bright blue and white, and all hell breaks loose.

The trees are lit by flashes of gunfire, the smell of cordite strong.

Shouts and the snapping sound of bullets come from the west, signalling the arrival of Foxtrot. You remain centered, focused, moving forward, mind on the task at hand. Mission first.

Gabe slides a hand over your lower back before heading in the direction of the river. Hunt sidles up, yelping when a bullet grazes his shoulder.

“Suck it up,” you hiss, moving forward quickly. You raise your rifle, firing off two rounds to your right. A body hits the ground. You pause just before entering the clearing, Hunt scouts out to the right, stepping lightly over a prone form.  
Hester hurries forward to take his place.

“I told you to stay back,” you hiss, studying the shadows, the bright flashes of light. A figure ahead and to your left catches your attention. With a slow, steadying breath, you move away from Hester, holding your left hand out to the side, giving the signal.

Hester looks at you the moment the bullet hits her, eyes widening in shock. She looks down at her chest, the wound just above her vest, splitting her clavicle. You sink back into the trees as her grace flickers and fades out.


	11. Chapter 11

“This is your fault.”

You spit a wad of blood filled saliva on the ground, breathing heavily through your mouth. With every breath your chest burns and pain shoots from your broken ribs. You brace yourself against the wall with shaking legs as Castiel rushes you, fist slamming into your gut. The air is forced from your lungs, escaping by way of a low moan, leaving you breathless. Agony races across your back. Your knees buckle and you crumple to the ground.

“STOP THIS!” Julian yells. The werewolf’s eyes are bright yellow, jagged teeth pushing past his lips. Sam holds him back, jaw tense and neck straining with the effort. Dean paces behind them, shoulders hunched. He runs a hand over his face, sighing. He looks weary, nothing more.

The edges of your vision go black. Arms wrapped around your abdomen, your battered body starts to tremble. Castiel aims a kick at your back. You try to move away but the strike lands, the pain blasting up to your skull with a nauseating flash of light.

Hester’s body is laid out on the concrete a few feet away. Her sightless eyes are still open, fixed on the ceiling. Castiel steps in your line of sight. Helpless, you watch as he pulls one heavy, dark boot back, aiming a kick at your face.

“Stop this now,” you hear a soft, lilting voice command. Castiel hesitates but doesn’t move away.

Gabe walks up to the angel, confident, powerful. Bright light emanating from her hurts your eyes but you don’t look away.

“Castiel,” she says, tone menacing. There’s a flash of gold as her wings expand, three sets of primary feathers stretching out, bright and beautiful.

The light is too much. The pressure in your skull builds, throbbing, making your stomach roil. A fresh wash of blood rushes up your throat, bubbling in your chest. You cough, the taste foul and metallic, it wets your lips and coats your chin. Every part of you aches, screaming for relief. You try to imagine green spaces, wide open skies but the concrete beneath you, the metal walls and ceiling, block all contact you need to rest and heal.

Castiel crouches beside you. Eyes on the Archangel, he bends low, growling, “I know you’re up to something but I don’t have the patience to wait and find out what. Next time I see you, I will kill you dragonfly.”

***  
Present Day

Dragonfly.

Despite the pain at the time, the riot of receptors lighting up your brain with agony, Castiel’s voice came through clear and sharp. You shudder, remembering, hands tight on the steering wheel. You tell Dean a bastardized version of the story, fundamentally the truth but missing a few key details. Hester died, you did not. Castiel blames you and hates you for it. He doesn’t need to know you gave the order to have her killed.

“A bullet?” he asks.

The windshield wipers streak across the window. The steady beat, along with the heavy drum of rain, the hush of the tires over wet pavement, is soothing. You glance at him, not understanding his question. Dean was quiet as you recounted the run but you noticed him flinch at the mention of certain names, saw him clench his hands in his lap, his shoulders slowly creep higher. He tensed when you spoke of Castiel.

“She was shot, yes.”

“How can a bullet kill an angel?”

You lick your lips, shifting your weight back to stretch your legs and the tight muscles in your back.

“Have you ever seen an angel blade?”

Dean nods.

Shifting again, not quite rid of the nervous energy, you say, “Resistance groups found a way to source the material the blades are made of. They manufacture bullets.”

His eyes widen, “No shit.” After a beat, he adds, “I don’t get it though. Accidents happen, shit hits the fan and people get killed. Why does he blame you?”

Eyes on the road, you let out a weary sigh. You’re tired of lying, tired of being afraid. The people you can trust are few. Your situation is precarious, to say the least, and you wish more than anything for something solid, stable, and real. Gabrielle is the only person you trust implicitly and, chancing a quick look at Dean, you realize that it’s not quite enough. Unfortunately, now is not the time for full disclosure. You don’t know this man.

“He needs to blame someone and I’m an easy target. I was team leader, I’m a sylph…”

“What does that have to do with it?” Dean interrupts

“What? Being a sylph?”

Dean nods, shifting in his seat. He lifts his left knee up onto the seat, angling his body to face you, giving you his full attention.

“You’re not human so, what’s the problem?”

“Sylphs are elementals,” you explain, “we came from the air just as salamanders came from fire, undines from water, gnomes…”

“Gnomes?” Dean tucks his chin to his chest, eyebrows high, mouth twisted into a smirk, “like garden gnomes?” He gestures, raising a hand over his head, “Short. Fat. Pointy red hats?”

It’s your turn to frown at him, “They’re small yes but not…no pointy red hats.”  
Smiling to himself, he looks down at his hands, picking at the thumb nail of his left hand.

“So what is it about being a sylph, an elemental, that makes you a scapegoat?”

Your chest tightens with a surprising rush of regret. You really don’t want to lie to him. The words form in your mind, the truth, all of it, but you can’t. He’s so different from the hard, unforgiving man you know that it’s hammering hard on that carefully constructed wall. You think of Gabrielle, of everything you’ve worked for.

“We’re the key,” you say, careful to give just enough to satiate the need to be honest with him but not arming him with damning information, “to closing the gates.”

That gets his attention. Dean’s head snaps up, eyes wide, mouth open.

“The gates? You mean hell?”

“And heaven.”

“How? I mean,” he shakes his head, blinking quickly, “what do you have to do with it?”

“This is our world. To close the gates of heaven and hell, purgatory and,” you bite softly on your bottom lip, “other dimensions, you need the combined forces of the elements.”

Dean stares off, eyes on something only he can see as he considers the possibility, “It’s that easy?”

You scoff, “Easy? No. But possible,” your voice drops, adding, “if most of the elementals hadn’t been killed off.”

Dean swallows. He slides his leg off the seat, facing forward again.

“Your family?”

“All dead,” you say, “never knew them. A lot of elementals interbred with humans and lost their magic. Most of the others were killed off.”

“How did you survive?”

“Gabrielle.”

You glance into the rear view mirror and signal, slowing the truck. The vehicle rattles violently, engine sputtering but it makes the turn. The road to the cabin is rough and uneven. You slow to a crawl, sure that the truck will fall apart at any moment as it groans and squeaks, the cab rocking almost violently.

The road is lined by deciduous trees, the buds and new leaves a bright, hopeful green. The effect is incredibly soothing. You take a deep, full breath.  
The cabin comes in to view. You slow the truck to a stop close to the back door, the vehicle shuddering into park. The door flies open, Kevin running out. He’s pale, dark rings around his eyes. His lips move quickly and he gestures, hands and arms flailing. You push open the door and get out.

“What? What’s going on?” You grab Kevin’s arms to stop him floundering about. He mutters incoherently, eyes darting back to the cabin.

“Calm down Kev, take a breath,” you take his face in your hands, forcing him to look at you.

“He’s gone!”

Dean rushes around the front of the truck, stopping beside you. He stares at the prophet. You let your hands slide down to Kevin’s shoulders, giving him a reassuring squeeze.

“Who’s gone? Crowley?” his voice is rough.

Kevin is dressed in one of Gabriel’s sun dresses, his shoulders and chest too wide for the garment. The dress is white with large, sun yellow flowers. It falls short, almost shockingly short, barely covering his groin. You take a moment- call it insanity- to hope he’s wearing underwear, even if they’re yours. His green hair is mussed and the dark circles around his eyes are the result of last night’s heavy eye liner. He pulls his bottom lip between his teeth, biting down.

“He was here an hour ago. He’s been bitching and complaining all morning but…”

Dean doesn’t wait to hear the rest. He hurries through the open door, calling out, “Crowley!”

You squeeze Kevin’s shoulders again, bringing his attention back to you, “but?”

“I went to dress and when I came out, he was gone!”

Letting your hands fall to your sides, you ask, “Did he say anything? You must have spoken with him?”

Kevin shrugs, “He whined about being left behind for a good half an hour before starting in on me and my hair, saying weird stuff about demon tablets and the mark of Cain,” Kevin mimics the demon’s accents, “ ‘I’m the bloody King of Hell’. It was all quite dramatic.”

You make a very conscious effort not to wring his neck.

“Surely he said something useful?”

Dean walks out of the cabin, eyes scanning the surrounding forest, “How long ago did you say he left?”

“About an hour,” Kevin says.

“He couldn’t have gotten far,” Dean tilts his head to the side, eyes on the road in. “You expecting someone?”

Releasing Kevin, you follow Dean’s gaze. You hear a vehicle pulling up and hope, if briefly, that it’s Gabe and Sam. No such luck. A shiny black truck drives up beside Robert’s vehicle.

You glance at Dean then back to the truck, swearing, “Fuck.”

“Who is it?” Dean says, sidling up next to you.

A slow, tight smile crosses Kevin’s face, “Oh, this is gonna be good.” His tone drips with sarcasm.

“Shut the fuck up Kevin,” you hiss, turning to Dean, “this, um, you do know him and he knows you. You don’t like each other, uh…”

The driver’s side door opens and a tall man with dark hair steps out. He blinks and raises an eyebrow when he sees you standing there with Kevin and Dean.  
Dean takes a half step back, blinking fast. He does recognize the werewolf, that much is evident. Kevin picks at the hem of the dress, nibbling on his bottom lip. He shifts from foot to foot, swirling his hips to make the dress flare out.

“Julian,” you call out in greeting, “hey. What’s up?”

The Were, frowning, lifts his head and takes a deep breath. He closes the door of his truck, walking over slowly.

“What’s going on?” he asks, ignoring Kevin completely. Julian knows the prophet and has little patience for his eccentricities. He looks at you, gaze flicking to Dean, taking in the hunter’s body language. The were doesn’t miss much.

Thinking fast, you say, “Had a near miss with Castiel over at the Singers.”

The corner of Julian’s mouth quirks down and he rolls his shoulders back and down, relaxing. “Shit,” he mutters, rubbing his hands together, “Gabe here?”

“No,” you say, gears churning for a good excuse, “she, uh, needed to do some damage control.”

Dean stands beside you, hands stuffed in the pockets of his jeans. He’s looking out over the lake, rocking back and forth on his heels. It’s so unlike him that you have to hold back a cringe. Julian studies the hunter for a moment. Dean meets the were’s eyes. He jerks his head to the side, flashes a quick grin and shrugs his shoulders.

Kevin giggles, drawing Julian’s attention. The prophet blushes and rolls his eyes, whispering, “I might have slipped him something.” He winks.

The sense of relief that swells inside of you almost brings tears to your eyes. Eyes downcast, you bite down on your lower lip and shake your head. Kevin moves behind you to grab the sleeve of Dean’s jacket. A blank look on his face, the hunter plays along, smiling. He lets Kevin pull him towards the cabin without a backwards glance, Kevin shooting Julian a playful grin.

“Bit early in the day, isn’t it?” Julian mutters, stepping closer. He watches as the door to the cabin shuts with a bang behind the two men before coming even closer. You don’t look up just yet. His black boots were carefully polished before coming out here, a light coating of sand from the road dulling the shine. He’s dressed for work; all in black, professional, and carefully put together. He smells of soap, clean and fresh. You let your gaze climb slowly, up long legs, narrow hips, and wide shoulders. You feel his breath in your hair.

“He might come out,” you whisper, noticing the light stubble on his chin, eyes stopping a beat too long on his lips.

“I didn’t think he’d be here,” his voice is low. You feel him slide a finger over the back of your hand. His touch is rough from long, calloused fingers as he takes your hand. You swallow hard.

“We had a…change of plans,” you say, voice rough. It’s hard to think with him so close, his immediacy filling your senses.

“We need to stay focused on our plan,” he slides his left hand over your hip, fingers brushing against your stomach. The plan. Your head clears. You grab his hand, pulling it away. Thinking of everything that you’ve worked towards, you shake your head, not even able to piece together how much this new development has fucked everything. Sam and Dean, the missing demon. Fuck.

“Julian…” You release his hands, taking a step back. He frowns at you.

“This is the only way, we all know it. We’ve been taking too many risks,” he looks quickly at the door, “the Winchesters have to die.”


	12. Chapter 12

The Winchesters have to die.

This was a certainty two days ago, something you knew had to happen and were prepared to go through with. It was carefully planned out; the brothers wouldn’t die together, not at the same time, but in two unrelated events. Sam first, then Dean.

“Have orders come down for our next run?” Julian asks, trying to get you to look at him.

You take another step back, looking out over the lake, “Not yet, should be anytime now. Sam’s been collecting intel on a camp in Danford Sound; it looks like that’ll be our next target.” This wasn’t exactly news to the Were, he knew Danford Sound was a strategic base, they had been planning this run for months knowing that Sam would eventually find it.

Julian crosses his arms over his chest. With a quick look at the cabin, he leans forward, trying to close the space between you, “What’s going on?”

That, you want to tell him, is the ultimate question. You close your eyes, worrying at your bottom lip with your teeth.

“Are you having doubts about this? I need to know…”

“No,” you open your eyes and catch his gaze, his dark brown irises spiked through with yellow, the wolf showing through Julian’s uneasiness.

“I need you to trust me,” you almost choke on the words, knowing how much you’re asking, “just, please.”

The sounds of the forest are ever present, a din of soothing noise- birds, the scurrying of small animals over and through the thick pad of old leaves and new growth, the rustle of evergreen branches swaying in the wind. Fat drops of rain start to fall.

Julian turns away from you, brow creased in a frown. He lets out a huff, “Alright, dammit Y/N, but,” he turns back, eyes flashing dark, the wolf abated for now, “you need to let me in.”

He shifts from foot to foot, looking like he wants to say something more but he stops himself, his restraint obvious in the clenched fists at his sides, the tightness of his mouth. With one last, quick look, he stalks to his truck, pausing before getting in. You look at him and he nods, shoulders relaxing. Alright then.

***

It’s a brutal thing to ask someone you don’t allow yourself to have faith in to trust you. Bypassing the cabin, you walk down to the lake, knowing instinctively that the demon isn’t hiding in the forest. However he left, it wasn’t on foot. Dean can grill Kevin and try and fill in the blanks from there.

The dock is wet from the rain, fresh drops fall intermittently, rippling the surface of the lake. You walk to the end and sit, slipping off your boots and socks, and sink your feet into the water. It’s shockingly cold. Leaning back on your elbows, you close your eyes and tilt your face up to the sky, focusing on the rhythm of the breath entering and leaving your body.

Feeling a light nip at your toes, you smile, swinging your legs gently back and forth. There was a time, once, when moments like this might have been all you would have known. No need for deception or hiding, war and tactics. That was a long time ago and you have no memory of it, just stories, or maybe fairy tales made up to appease the requests of a much younger, much more innocent version of yourself.

You sense him before his footsteps give him away but you don’t turn to him. He steps onto the dock, careful not to rock it too much as he approaches. Dean crouches down beside you, leaning over to trail his fingers in the water.

He gasps, “Shit that’s freezing!”

“Mmm,” your head swims as endorphins flood your brain.

“How can you stand it?” The dock sways as Dean adjusts his weight.

You think of telling him how swimming is not something Sylphs do, how the only reason you can swim is because of your human body. You want to tell him that swimming is the closest thing that feels like flying and that you miss your wings and flight so much the pain is physical. You don’t say any of these things out loud but just the fact that you yearn to tell him is surprising. You open your eyes and look up at him.

“I learned a while ago that the combination of breathing exercises and a physical jolt, like cold, causes a pretty good release of endorphins.”

Dean nods, “I can think of much more enjoyable ways to get a rush,” his gaze going to your mouth and neck.

Catching his meaning, you smile at him, pushing up off your elbows to sit up.

“Yes, there are other things. I prefer enjoying the release while doing the least amount of harm to myself though.”

“You think I’ll hurt you?”

“I think starting to care for you will inevitably result in pain, yes. For both of us.”

Dean looks down at his hands, nodding. You pull your feet out of the water and tuck them under your legs. There is movement under the water, the flash of silvery scales. He crouches down beside you, elbows resting on his thighs. He interlaces his long fingers, hands dangling between his knees.

“I think Crowley was zapped out,” he says after a beat, “there’s no sign of forced entry or a struggle, no tracks that aren’t accounted for so unless a guerilla team was sent in…”

“Gabrielle would have sensed it,” you interrupt, “she has wards on the cabin and would know if someone came in. I don’t know how it works if the demon escaped by magic, particularly foreign magic. A free roaming demon isn’t safe but isn’t really in mortal danger around here. God,” you pull your fingers through your hair, catching on tangles, “I can’t think anymore.”

Dean snorts, nodding, he leans forward to rub his thumb over his lips.

“You and, uh,” he motions towards the truck with a small jerk of his head, “the Were,” he clears his throat, “you…”

“Are we fucking?” you can’t help but laugh at his awkwardness. Dean Winchester is not awkward or shy, or sweet, or playful. Ever. Whatever lovely Universe created this Dean must be something, you think to yourself as he blushes and licks his lower lip.

“No,” you decide to mercifully end his misery, “not currently, anyway.” He looks up, a shiver passing through him. The rain starts to fall steadily now. Dean hunches his shoulders up and rubs his hands together.

“You don’t feel the cold?” he asks, shivering again.

Pulling your socks and boots back on, you smile to yourself, “Nah, I run hot.”

You look up at Dean. His mouth twitches into a lopsided grin, “I don’t doubt that.” 

He stands, holding a hand out to help you up. You hesitate a moment before sliding your hand in his, the contact sparking a flurry of impulses shooting up your arm, across your chest, and down deep, low, between your legs. Feeling lightheaded and off balance, you stand slowly, trying to hide the tremble in your legs by shaking them out. You pull your hand from Dean’s gentle grasp to smooth your palms over your thighs.

The muscles in Dean’s jaw work as he watches you, his expression darkening. He nods curtly and turns away, the strike of his boots on the dock heavy.

***

Dean rams his fists into his pockets, long legs easily tackling the hill up to the cabin, leaving you standing on the dock in the rain. There’s too much going on, too many questions to be answered without throwing complicated feelings into the mix.

He tries to sort it out, clean and compartmentalized, the way he likes things. The problem is that he doesn’t know where to put you. You are not clearly and easily defined and it’s driving him crazy. It makes him uneasy and moody. Monsters are bad, hunters gank bad guys, Dean in a hunter, you are a monster. That should be it, end of story. Over the years, there have been exceptions to the rule, you shouldn’t be one of them. You are a monster and you hunt people. There’s something that doesn’t quite fit though, a gnawing deep in his gut that won’t settle, something beyond the fact that he and Sam are stuck in some fucked up alt universe where people are the hunted, monsters the hunters.

Goddamnit. He stomps up the few steps to the door of the cabin and yanks it open.

***

“We brought food,” Gabrielle calls out.

You’re sitting on the couch with Kevin, his head in your lap, his eyes closed in bliss as you run your fingers through his hair. Dean has been in the bedroom most of the afternoon, dozing fitfully.

There’s a break in the quiet as Gabe and Sam come in, the door slamming behind them, the scuff of boots and crinkle of bags. They take off their jackets, moving around one another in a way that makes you stop and watch. There’s something about Gabrielle’s smile, something to the tone of her voice that is different, lighter. A seed of warning settles heavily in your gut.

“What did you get?” Kevin asks just as you say, “Find anything helpful?”

Sam, hunched over to pick up the bags, stops suddenly, eyes wide and looking startled. You raise an eyebrow at him, turning your gaze to Gabrielle.

“What?” you ask, not breaking eye contact with the angel as you get up.

“Food!” Kevin sits up, groaning, “What about the food?”

Sam awkwardly squeezes between you and Gabe on his way to the kitchen, Kevin following closely behind.

“We’ve been called in,” Gabe says, “that’s why Castiel was at the Singer’s.”

“When?” Your heart hammers in your chest at Gabe’s tight expression. Her face isn’t made for hard looks but when she wants to, she can be extraordinarily imposing. She’s steeling herself for you, you realize, letting you know everything is going to be alright before slamming with you with the news.

“Tonight. I have someone coming to pick Kevin up. We have to be at the compound by midnight.”

She reaches down to grip your arm, squeezing gently, “It’s going to be fine. Sam and I have been talking and these guys know what they’re doing. I trust them.”

“Trust them?” you spit out, head snapping to the right to see Sam hurry over to the cabinets in a pretense of not having heard her.

“We don’t know them…”

Gabe steps closer, eyes hard and jaw tight, “Tell me you don’t know,” she presses a fist to your gut, “and I mean, really know that we can trust them. I know you don’t want to, but your instincts, my instincts, have never been wrong.”

“Fuck.” The word comes out on a deep exhalation. Trusting them means letting go and that’s something you’re not good at. If you’re going to trust Dean and Sam, you have to let go of everything you think you know about the Winchesters, everything that has happened in the past, and any control you had over the situation.

“This really doesn’t give us much time to change our plans. The team is expecting…” you whisper, searching Gabe’s eyes.

She nods, casting a quick glance at Sam, “I’ll think of something, some way to stall them.”

You follow her gaze, “How much have you told him?”

“Not everything.”

You swear softly under your breath as Dean comes out into the living room, brushing a hand through his hair and squinting at you.

“Everything okay?” he asks, scratching his belly and stifling a yawn.

“We’ve got work to do,” Gabe says, features snapping back into her regular, playful expression. You square your shoulders, tilting your head to the side to stretch out the muscles in your neck and ready yourself for the fight of your life.

“So, uh, where’s Crowley?” Sam asks.

***

The discussion about the demon doesn’t last long.

“He’s on his own,” Gabrielle says, “he has no power here so running is not in his best interest. Demons are not highly valued so there’s very little chance someone abducted him. If he was ‘zapped’ out, we might just be better off.”

Dean nods, “Having someone on the other side could really help. Hopefully he’ll get Cas…”

Sam clears his throat, “Well, let’s just focus on tonight.” A look passes between the brothers that you don’t quite catch.

Gabe had arranged for the Chief to pick Kevin up, leaving the two of you alone with the brothers. Around the small table, you get down to it, telling the Winchesters everything they need to know about the mission in Danford Sound, omitting a few careful details.

“Our last intel reported close to two dozen adults and maybe seven or eight youth,” you lean back to take a sip of your beer. You lick your lips, glance at Gabrielle, and continue, “It’s not a typical run.”

“Why’s that?’ Dean asks. He reaches out to grab a freshly emptied bottle of beer, picking at the label.

Gabe is sitting sideways in her chair, her legs resting in Sam’s lap. The two lean close to each other, Sam draping one arm around the back of the angel’s chair. Their comfort with one another still doesn’t quite sit well with you and with a glance at Dean, he seems to share your sentiment.

“We have a new buyer,” Gabrielle answers. She shakes a few candies out a bag and into the palm of her hand. “We haven’t worked with her before so it’s a little touchy. We have to be careful, there are resistance fighters everywhere.”

Dean nods, lips puckering, “Alright. I’m afraid to ask but,” he looks at his brother, “might be someone we know?”

“Her name is Bela.”


	13. Chapter 13

You can hear his heartbeat. In the unfathomable infinity of the blink of an eye, scored by the snap of gunfire, his heartbeat speeds up with one last effort, one final push, and then stops. Fingers coated with cooling, sticky blood, you slide his eyelids shut. The chaos around you comes into sharp focus as you leave his lifeless body behind and run into the thick of the battle.

***

“I can’t sit here, waiting,” you grumble, fingers and toes aching with pooling adrenaline. You knew the run was coming; you spent countless hours preparing for it, for this run. If everything went according to plan, tonight was the night that Sam Winchester would die. 

Looking across the room where Gabrielle and Sam are cuddled close together, the words change of plans doesn’t even begin to cover it. You feel as though you’ve been on high alert, running full bore since walking into that motel room. 

Dean sits across from his brother and even from this vantage point, half of his profile visible, close cropped hair, he’s so different from the man you know. Or knew. You can’t even imagine where the Dean you knew ended up and, if he’s alive, what he might be doing. 

“Wait,” Gabrielle calls as you turn to stalk down the hall, “where are you going?”

You pause only long enough to say, “I’m going to get ready. The faster we get going the faster…shit,” you run your hands through your hair, hurrying down the hall.

Busy. If you can stay busy, maybe panic won’t set in. Reluctantly, you pull open the closet door and pull clothes off of hangers roughly, metal hangers snapping off the pole and clattering to the floor. You toss the clothes onto the bed and grab the bottom of your shirt, pulling it up over your head. Your neck and shoulders are tense, chest heaving with shallow breaths. 

“Hey,” Dean peeks around the door, ducking back out when he sees you roughly tugging at the button of your pants, yanking them down.

“Uh, is there something I can do?” he asks.

Dean stands in the hall, holding the door just open enough to be heard. Your clothes are in an untidy pile on the bed, pants pooled on the ground. Grabbing a long sleeved, black under layer shirt, you slide your arms in, pausing to stare at the wrinkled blankets on the bed. Dean tried to rest this afternoon but from the looks of the bed, he wasn’t very successful. Pulling the shirt over your head, you tug it down before reaching out to run your hand over the place where he had lain. 

“This isn’t right,” you whisper to yourself.

“What’s that?”

Dean pokes his head into the room, face in half light from the hall. He averts his eyes when he notices that you’re still half undressed. 

“Do you believe in what you do?” you ask, facing him.

He takes a deep breath and steps into the room. He tilts his chin down, gaze on the floor but the look is far away. He nods his head slowly, body rocking with the motion. 

“It’s not easy but yes, I do.”

“So do we,” you whisper, voice catching. 

Dean looks up, body leaning forward as though to take a step. He rocks back, stuffing his hands into his pockets. 

“I have to believe that you’re convinced that you do what you think is right, Y/N, but you don’t have to do this. Killing people, selling them, whatever you’re doing, you don’t have to.” His voice is rough and low but the words are clear.

You swallow hard against the growing lump in your throat, “There’s so much you don’t know.”

His head snaps up, gaze meeting yours. His eyes are hard, catching the light, lips pressed into a tight line.

“Whatever happened to you,” he removes his hands from his pockets, gesturing in quick, sharp movements, “whatever happened to your people, nothing can excuse slavery and…and genocide.”

Your head bobs slowly, arms hanging limply at your sides, “Can I ask you something?”

Using as much of the nervous tension and adrenaline as you can, you take a step forward. Stepping up to Dean in the dark, his tall form, the scent of him, the heat coming off of his body, the sound of his breath and hush of his clothing as he shifts his weight, is a whole new experience. Although he’s powerful and no doubt dangerous, there’s no menace or threat, he doesn’t try to dominate the space, or you.

You look down at your toes, stopping when there’s little between you but breath and heat. 

“What is it?” he says, his breath in your hair.

“Do you think,” your arm rests in front of your hip, fingers twitching, not quite brushing his thigh. Tentatively, he takes a hold of your fingers, his grip open and soft, rough and calloused but gentle.

Your breath hitches and you being again, “Do you think you can trust me? Trust us?”

You find yourself balancing your weight forward on the balls of your feet, and up. Dean feels a pull and leans down until his forehead brushes your temple, the touch feather light but electric. 

“My mind,” the words come out too loud and strong, the tone breaking as he says more softly, “my mind is screaming at me not to but everything else just…I do. I do trust you.”

You close your eyes, the implication of his trust heavy but also an incredible relief and release. Dean’s next exhale is harsh. He gives your fingers a squeeze before releasing them and stepping back. This close, and with his back to the light, you can’t make out his features but sense a strange, easy tension. It takes a moment for you to realize that he’s prepared for whatever comes. Without another word, he turns and leaves you standing alone in the room. You grab the door handle as your knees give out.

***

“Really?” 

Sam shifts uncomfortably in the back seat, hands clasped between his knees. Only moments before, he was the picture of relaxation; laughing with Gabrielle, his arm around her shoulders, head tilted back in mirth. The reminder that they had roles to play, and the striking differences of the people they were supposed to be dampened the mood.

“Yeah, he’s kind of…” you look at Gabe through the rear view mirror, trying to think of the kindest way possible to say what you have to say. “He’s very, uh, assertive and, uh, he has a very healthy sense of self confidence.”

“So, he’s an ass.” Dean says. He’s been quiet since leaving the cabin, not sullen but pensive. He looks over his shoulder at his brother, cheeks dimpling.

“Dean’s the ass,” Gabe says, popping her gum for emphasis, “Sam is very full of himself.”

“He’s not very aware of the people around him,” you say, doubting the brothers will be able to pull this off without raising suspicious. They couldn’t be less like the Sam and Dean you know. In the periphery of your vision, the evidence is incredibly clear. You swallow hard, having lost count of how many times you’ve had to remind yourself not to look at him, not to stare, his faith in you still baffling.

“Alright, alright,” Sam holds his hands up, palms out, “give it to me. I can take it. Does he, uh, do I have any pre-hunt rituals?”

The groan that rumbles out of your throat is so unbidden that you immediately turn to Dean, a blush burning your cheeks and an apology on your lips. He doesn’t seem to have noticed, his body turned away from you, attention on the quickening darkness outside his window.

“He usually has a drink at the briefing. He doesn’t really do a whole lot of prep but he loves around and barking out orders,” Gabrielle says, one of Sam’s hands pressed between her own, she stares at his fingers as she speaks. “He’s always a team leader and gives OP orders before we leave.”

“Okay,” Sam’s mouth thins into a grimace, “alright, I think I can do that. What about Dean?”

The elder Winchester turns in his seat, “Yeah, if we’re gonna do this, we need to do it right. Lay it on me.”

Gabe’s eyes meet yours. It had to be said but the sickeningly tight feeling in your gut is your body’s way of letting you know it would be best avoided. The angel doesn’t smile but her look shifts. Like a blanket, you feel surrounded by calm and hope she can sense your gratitude as strongly as you feel her support.

“Dean is a straight up asshole. He’s the biggest and baddest and wants everyone to know it. He,” another quick look, “he usually organizes the teams, checks supplies, and, well, he and Y/N burn off some steam before the hunt.” 

“Oh.”

The seat creaks as he settles his weight, facing forward once again. The muscles in his jaw work as he processes this, hands on his thighs bunched into fists. He opens his mouth as if to say something but Gabrielle cuts him off, rattling off details about the targets, location, and the objective. Sam asks questions, expression serious as he takes in the information. Dean stays quiet.

***

Gabrielle unlocks the cabinet inside the warehouse office, pulling out file folders. Sam is seated at a desk by the door, going through data his alternate self had collected on the hunt. The angel hands the folder over to Dean. He takes it, eager to have something else to keep his mind occupied. 

You busy yourself with unlocking the weapons lock up, checking ammo stores and testing the radios. 

The moment you hear the warehouse door swing open and heavy footsteps on the concrete floor, you go cold and stiff. The table in front of you is covered in gear, all neatly arranged. You try and focus on that instead of the arrival of the team but your hands shake and your mind keeps tuning in to the sounds outside the lock up. 

After the last run in with Castiel, and with Gabrielle’s urging, Michael ordered Castiel to stay away from you but there was no doubt that your usefulness was outweighed by your relationship with Gabrielle when it came to your beating heart and miraculous ability to continue drawing breath.

Virgil’s deep voice fills the room, “Heya little elf, need any help in here?”

You close your eyes and let out an inaudible sigh of relief. The term ‘elf’, although inaccurate, is one of endearment, or at least, the large angel decided it would be and always says it with kindness. “I, uh,” you wrap shaking fingers around a magazine, the metal casing cool and heavy with ammo, “I think I’m good.”

“Alright then. The rest of the team should be here soon. We’ll start the brief at half past.”

“Yes, thank you, Virgil.

If the angel sensed anything amiss, he didn’t let on. It was another beat before he turned and left though. Nothing left to do in the room, you head out, automatically leaving the door open for Dean’s inspection. The hunter is nowhere to be seen. Another small group of people arrive, Julian’s eyes meeting yours the moment he walks in. He looks quickly away, following another Were to the locker room at the back.

You turn to watch them when Dean saunters out of the office, catching your attention. Your stomach clenches at the sight of him. He stalks over to you, expression grim but determined. If this is the way it’s going to be, you can’t help but think to yourself, it shouldn’t be much different that the usual pre run rut against a wall somewhere. 

“I don’t think I can do this,” he takes your elbow and pulls you close, hissing in your ear.

“What?” you glance up at him and then away, making sure you’re not drawing any unwanted attention, “you’re a hunter, this is a hunt, I asked you to tru…”

“No, not that,” there’s something panicky and almost vulnerable in his voice; you pull away to look up into his face.

“What? The sex?”

He blushes.

Dean Winchester blushes.

You would have laughed, should have, but the rising colour in his neck and cheeks, the uncertainty in his eyes and waver of his lips just breaks your heart. You have to very consciously stop yourself from touching his face; there are people watching.

“Pull me over to the vehicle bay,” you whisper.

“What?”

He still has you by the elbow and the way you’re standing; it looks like he’s angry.

“Drag my ass to the vehicle bay and do it like you mean it,” you hiss.

Dean licks his lips, dipping his head low and casting a quick look about.

“Right,” he says, more for his own benefit.

Fingers tightening around your elbow, he stalks across he hall towards the vehicle bay, cutting off Julian, two other Weres, Samandriel, and Hunt. Although you manage to avoid their looks, you see Julian watching you. He draws himself up to his full height, shoulders tense, but doesn’t intervene.

“Why do I have to drag you?” Dean murmurs when you trip over your feet trying to keep up with his long stride.

“Because,” you tilt your head towards an olive drab SUV, “Dean likes everything his way, right away, and he likes to be in charge.”

“Hmm,” Dean says, rounding the SUV to put the vehicle between you and anyone who might walk in. “I get that.”

He lets you go, jamming his hands into his pockets and scuffing the floor with the toe of one boot, fidgeting. Leaning back against the vehicle, you cross your arms over your chest.

“Something you have in common perhaps?”

“I don’t nearly get things my way as often as I would like to.” The tone of his voice is light and playful.

There a few moments of awkward silence, moments in which your palms start to sweat and your heart races to catch up to the sudden rush of blood headed south. The hunter, regardless of which version, is incredibly attractive. The only objection you have ever had to Dean’s pre-ritual fuck is how much he loves to publicize it; he always made sure to be somewhere you could, and usually would, get caught. He loved that anyone at any time could walk by and see you and that, if not, most everyone could hear it. 

“We should get this over with,” you murmur, tongue flicking over your lips. Your mouth, tongue and throat have gone dry as you become more and more anxious.

Dean looks up, eyes heavily hooded not with desire, but something else, something like disappointment. 

“What?” he asks, “Is that what it’s like? Something to get over with as quickly as possible?”

You shrug and look away, unable to hold his gaze.

“I don’t do get-it-over-with sex sweetheart,” there’s an edge to his voice that is more promise than threat. 

He steps closer, looking up to watch someone walk by before returning his attention to you. Your head barely reaches his chin and, when he stops moving, you’re staring at the open neckline of his shirt. You feel the heat of your own breath on him, swallowing hard again when Dean slides one hand around your side to rest on the small of your back. He traces the fingers of his left hand over the edge of your jaw. Under your chin, he applies just enough pressure to bring your face up to meet him. Your eyelids flutter at the sight of his lips, parted and full, his breath on your face. 

You rock your hips forward, reaching out tentatively to grab the hunter’s jacket to steady yourself. His lips brush against yours, the touch soft and fleeting, before looking into your eyes. He’s so close that you can count the freckles on his nose, feel his eyelashes against your face. It’s so intimate that you’re unsure of what to do, of how to proceed. You’ve been kissed, touched, but not with this focus or intensity and you realize that you want it all of it; you’ll take whatever he has to offer. 

The reality is that you can’t, and won’t. You are not worth the disruption of everything you’ve worked for. Your happiness has never been the goal. Everything that you have done, that you have sacrificed and others have sacrificed has been for the greater good. Dean needs to know the truth but, for now, you can give him at least a brief escape before you throw him and his brother into the fire.


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam Winchester must die

Dean lets out a breath and closes his eyes, his cheek, rough with stubble, rubbing against your face. He nudges your jaw with his chin and, in one quick move, tilts his head, presses his body into you, pushing you back against the vehicle, and kisses you.

Life has been too quick and too hard for you to develop any romantic notions. You didn’t dream about love and gestures of affection. The best you could hope for was to wake in the morning and see another day. 

This.

This is all encompassing, filling your senses with the feeling of his mouth on yours, the sound of his breath, the scent of his skin and hair. He wraps his arms around you, pulling you so close that you can only tighten the grip you have on his jacket, lift yourself up onto your toes to push back, to press the air out of any remaining space between the two of you.

It might just be an act- this is what you asked for, after all- but you’ll take it. 

You sigh when he parts your lips and you taste his tongue. Dean reaches up to cup the back of your head, pushing you hard against the truck. You lift one leg, resting your heel against the door and pressing your knee against his thigh. He takes advantage of the position, grabbing your thigh and pulling it higher, pressing his hips to your pelvis, his thigh between your legs.

Resisting the urge to grind down against his leg, you reach up, sliding your arms around his neck, one hand in his hair, the other gripping his shoulder. Your breath hitches when he rolls his hips forward, grinding against the aching apex of your thighs. Dean moans and you feel your face flush with heat. 

Something catches your attention, a disruption in the confusion of breath and touch. It breaks through the haze, making you hesitate. Dean notices and stops, his grip loosening slightly. He pulls away and you bite back a whimper, disappointed and not just a bit annoyed with the interruption.

It’s a steady beat of noise, sharp and getting louder. Dean looks up over the vehicle and you see his jaw slacken, mouth falling open.

“Shit,” he mutters, complexion paling.

You push against him and he gives too easily for your liking; he steps back away from you. The air between you feels cold, or maybe it’s that your skin was so hot. You swallow hard and straighten your clothes, run a hand through your hair before taking a few steps to the front of the SUV.

“Ah, there you both are,” the clipped English accent is unmistakable. 

“Ms. Talbot,” you say, your voice tight and throat dry.

Dean steps forward. Stops. Hesitates. You can feel your pulse in your neck, worried that his behaviour will alert Bela. His eyes meet your gaze and the connection is brief but he straightens, turns to Bela and growls, “What the fuck do you want?”

Your relief is like a cool drink of water and you struggle not to let it show, turning away from them both and ducking your head, hoping to pass the behaviour off as embarrassment.

Bela crosses her arms over her chest. She’s dressed in a grey suit with a bright red blouse that matches her lipstick. Her glossy red pumps clack against the concrete floor as she approaches, her eyes on you and then Dean.

“Yes, well, you are as good at pleasantries as I am interested in them so, all that out of the way, shall we get down to business?”

This time, Dean doesn’t hesitate at all. He steps toe to toe with her, “You actually have no business here. Like the vulture you are, you can wait until we do the dirty work and get your scraps when the job is done.”

You see the uncertainty in Dean when Bela doesn’t immediately back down. It’s not obvious but you notice it in the way he clenches his fist, the tightening in his jaw. Bela’s eyes are on you. She licks her lips and smiles, the glint in her eye before she breaks the contact and looks back at Dean makes your stomach knot.

“Yes well, don’t bruise the merchandise darling, I get a better price when they get to market whole and unsullied.” She swivels on her heels, turning away. Before leaving she says, “I’ve invested a lot into this little,” she looks over her shoulder, fixing you with a hard look, “venture. Don’t make me regret it.”

The breath you let out once she’s out of the vehicle bay carries a lot of tension with it, your shoulders hunch forward and you feel deflated. Dean takes a step towards you but you hold a hand up reluctantly, making a point of looking towards the group forming by the weapons lock up.

Clenching your teeth, you give him a hard look and force the words, “We’re hunting people tonight; women, children, the elderly. We’re going to hunt them down, kill the weak, and sell the rest,” you falter when Dean’s expression falls, all warmth quickly replaced with disgust and rage, but you continue on, “and unless you want to die, you need to play along.”

Feeling your face heat with regret, you rush out of the vehicle bay.

“Hey,” Julien is standing just outside of the weapons lock up. He quickly holsters his gun and reaches out for you. His fingers brush your arm but he knows better than to make a grab for you. When Dean stalks out, expression dark, the Were takes a step back.

You slow only long enough to give him a tight lipped smile, hoping that he takes it as status quo. When you make it to the bathroom, your hands are shaking, fumbling with the lock. There’s a thump at the bathroom door and it opens, Gabrielle leaning all of her weight against it.

Seeing her, you step back and let her in. Gabrielle closes and locks the door behind her, taking a moment to listen and ensure there’s no one outside before she speaks.

“I don’t know what to do,” she says, “all I know is that if we kill this…if we kill Sam,” she shakes her head, “who knows what will happen.” She starts to pace, alternating between flapping her hands in the air and wringing them together. “I’ve been through a bunch of texts, the Singers haven’t come up with anything, and I’m out of ideas here. We can’t postpone this run but there’s not way can go through with the objective.”

“I can take the fall.” The words come out so suddenly and softly that, for a moment, you’re not sure you said them out loud. 

Gabrielle turns to you, head cocked to the side, eyes narrow. “I really hope that you’re not saying what I think you’re saying.”

“What other option do we have? Castiel is determined to see me bloody and lifeless, Bela and Balthazar are in this shit too deep, not to mention,” your throat tightens, “pulling the Singers into it and now these two, the Winchesters…” Again with the breath. You’re tempted to lie down on the cool tiles, close your eyes, and just will the world away.

The only gentle touch you’ve ever known was from the Singers and Gabrielle. She reaches out for you now but you take a step back, shaking your head, “Gabe,” you whisper, “what else can we do? We can’t kill Sam, but if we don’t…”

She flinches, pulling her hand back. “Oh Y/N.”

***

Sam crouches down by a map, pointing and giving orders. He’s a quick study and has an excellent memory, barking out orders that the others follow without question. He almost has the part down clean, with the exception of the glances he keeps sliding towards Gabrielle, the quick little quirks at the corners of his mouth when she returns his looks.

Dean’s sour mood is not unusual and he stays clear of you, which is a relief. It’s easier to think when you can forget who he really is. 

“Alright,” Sam shouts, “we’ve got a possible haul of two dozen bodies. This camp has been off our radars so they’re obviously well organized and might put up a worthy fight,” he turns to Dean, “nothing we haven’t seen before, nothing we can’t handle.”

Dean nods but his keeps his eyes on the floor, pacing back and forth and around, off to the side of the group, a rifle hanging off of a clip on his vest, his finger along the trigger guard.

“Alpha team is on me,” he gestures to Dean, “Beta with Dean. We’ll be trucked in together. Alpha will be dropped off about two miles out north west of the camp. Beta will have more to go on foot to take their position further south but we can’t risk being made too early or they’ll scatter. Usual teams, keep it fast, light and quiet.”

He shifts his weight, jaw muscles working when he looks at Bela. She’s standing off to the side, leaning casually against the wall of the office, watching intently. 

Sam tilts his head her way, “We have a new mover so let’s do this right.”

Bela smiles, smooths her skirt down and walks over. Her confidence clear in the set of her shoulders, the angle of her neck. Hands on her hips, she walks slowly around the group, heels clicking as she eyes everyone carefully.

“I don’t deal in anything but the best goods. I’ve built a reputation on being the best and dealing in top products.”

Everyone in the room is heavily armed, skilled fighters with countless runs, missions, captures and kills. Everyone except Bela. Impeccably dressed, hair pulled up in a simple twist, she commands everyone’s attention and exudes calm and control. 

“So,” she stops behind you and there’s no doubt her eyes are on you as she says, “make damn sure not to let me down.”

The group is quiet and still for a moment until Sam claps his hands together, making you jump.

“Let’s head out,” he says, waving a hand around in the air. 

You roll your shoulders back, craning your neck to one side, and then the other, hoping to stretch out the tension in your muscles. 

Bela is still standing behind you and when you turn, she leans in to whisper, “You’re a bit jumpy, aren’t you? Make damn sure you stay on target.” With a last, tight lipped smile, she turns and walks away.

You take a deep breath, reminding yourself how long you have been planning this, how much time and preparation has gone into this moment. Squaring your shoulders and adjusting your hold on your rifle, you walk towards the vehicle. Hunt and Dean turn to face you, Dean avoiding your gaze.

Hunt claps you hard on the back, grinning wide, “Let’s do what we do best.”

***

There is always a moment in a fight, in battle, when the switch flips. People say there are two natural reactions- fight or flight- but really, there are three. Fight, flight, and freeze. You’ve seen it, that exact instant when someone- fighter or civilian, it doesn’t matter- goes into that state. There are two types of “freezies”- the ones who shut right down and give up, obvious by the blank look in their eyes and the relaxed muscles, and then there are the fidgety ones who tense up and usually cry or scream, whites of their eyes visible as they roll in their sockets.

It’s easier to deal with the former, you usually just leave them there to die. Sometimes they get lucky and make it through. The fidgety ones are a problem, they tend to get you into trouble by either giving away the position or latching on to able fighters, inhibiting them and endangering the mission. It’s much easier to put a bullet in them and move on. 

You have always been a fighter, it’s why they chose you. It’s the reason you’re alive today and the angels didn’t have you killed, or enslaved. Enslaved sylphs never lived long. Even if Gabrielle hadn’t taken a liking to you, they would have found a way to use you and you would have let them because you are a survivor. More than anything, you want to live. 

When then truck rolls to a stop, breaks squealing, your mind stills and everything falls into place the way it always does before a run. You know exactly what you have to do. 

Or, that’s the way it usually is. Now, with Dean in your peripheral vision, knowing what you know about him and confused about the feelings you have for the hunter, you feel unsteady. You are usually the first to move but now, you feel the alien sensation of uncertainty. You freeze. Swallowing hard, you look down at your rifle, pretending to inspect it and hoping that no one on the team, no one who knows you, will notice. Your muscles feel slow to respond and your limbs are heavy, hands and feet cold. The thoughts running through your brain are scrambled, a jumble of scenarios and what-ifs that only incite further lethargy.

The doors open and Hunt jumps out, quickly followed by Julian. After a look at Dean, Sam to the back and steps out. Behind you, Virgil bumps your arm, saying, “You sick or somethin’? Too long in the van?”

“Nah,” the word comes out weak so you repeat, more forcefully, “nah, I’m good, just making sure I don’t forget something.”

Virgil frowns at Dean, shrugs, and inches past. Dean makes a move to follow but stops when your fingers tighten around his forearm. Chest heaving with growing panic, you whisper, “I have to kill Sam.”


	15. Chapter 15

“I have to kill Sam,” you whisper just as Hunt bangs on the side of the vehicle, shouting, “Let’s go!" 

Dean frowns at you, lines creasing between his eyebrows and the corners of his mouth turning down. He leans forward, asking, "What?” But he’s forced to move ahead as werewolves Anne and Benjamin are jostled forward, pushing Dean off balance. He tries to edge to the side to let them pass but Hunt motions for Dean to hop out. Horace and Regent, both Annunaki, move silently forward, taking up the rear. The van rocks as people jump out. 

Your mouth hangs open, thoughts clouding. The sounds and movement outside of the vehicle become sharper, clearer. The passenger door creaks open as Samandriel gets out, joining the others he explains that the road south is more overgrown that they had thought and everyone will have to hike from here. No one protests. Adrenaline levels are running high, the air crackling with energy. You stand, slowly, and pick your rifle up by the hand guard, pointing the muzzle towards the floor. Virgil peeks into the back of the van, eye narrowed against the darkness of the interior. 

“Y/N? Your batteries low or something?” He says, his voice echoing off the walls. 

You reach the back of the van and hop out, both feet hitting the ground solidly, knees bent against the impact. Virgil closes the doors behind you, giving the roof two raps to let the driver know she’s clear to leave. Beta team, grouped together around the front of the van, move out of the way to let it pass. Dean looks over Samandriel’s head, searching for you. When his eyes meet yours, his mouth quirks into a half smile but it’s forced. He’s stressed but hiding it well; from everyone but you. You can sense it; it comes off of him in waves as though he’s steeling himself, preparing for what’s to come. 

Sam is crouched down, a section of map open on his knee. He looks up for a marker, murmuring to Virgil and pointing to the south. Hunt, Julian, and Benjamin are standing near, ready for orders. The sound of footsteps alerts you to someone approaching, someone light. You don’t have to reach out with your senses to know its Gabrielle. You can smell the chemical sweet scent of artificial grape flavouring and hear the snap of her gum. 

“Yo,” she says, bumping her shoulder into your arm. “You have a plan?” She’s tense, her body rigid next to you. 

“Yeah,” you snap the clip on the butt of your rifle to a carabiner attached to your vest, “kill Sam.”

Gabrielle – the angel in constant motion- goes still. She doesn’t fidget, doesn’t chew or snap her gum, she doesn’t blink. She stares at you for three seconds, maybe more, before letting out a long exhale. She looks down at the ground. 

“I get it, he’s different,” you say, the words coming fast while you keep your voice low, “he’s kind, they are kind and gentle and….different but,” you reach out to grab her arm, trying to get Gabrielle to look at you, “how many people are depending on us?” 

When Gabe does look up at you, her eyes are watery but there’s no sadness there. 

“If they knew, do you think they would want us to sacrifice dozens of lives…” 

Gabrielle holds a hand up, her expression steely. “I get it.” You release your hold on her and take a step back. 

“Do you?” 

She closes her eyes and nods, “What if we had told them?” 

“When? Between them showing up here, their sassy little demon, Castiel, and this run…” 

“Right,” Gabrielle says. She’s about to say something else when Virgil calls her over. She looks past you then, over your shoulder. You don’t have to look back to know that she’s watching Sam. You can’t imagine what she might be thinking. Through all the years, all the deaths and loss and the constant numbness of a never ending war, you have never seen her act the way she has over the past few days. 

She pulls you into a hug, her small body crushing you in a tight grip. One arm across your shoulders and up behind your neck, the other pulling your lower back close, she buries her face in your neck. 

“Goddamn.” 

You have only enough time to give her a quick squeeze before she pulls away. Gabrielle walks towards Beta team. You don’t watch her, sights fixed on Sam Winchester and thinking of all the things the man has done over the years. Not this man, no, but right now, everything depends on you convincing yourself otherwise. 

*** 

The air is getting heavier and heavier with moisture as thick, dark clouds gather overhead. Alpha moves steadily forward, skirting the edge of a clearing and keeping watch over the dirt track the humans use as a back entrance on the north western edge of their camp. Beta left half an hour before your team made any move, giving them time to take up their position further south and blocking off the access road. 

Being so far out of the city is giving you a massive surge of energy that you’ve been using to stay focused on the task at hand. You’re on high alert, scanning the area for any signs of life. When Sam motions for a rest stop, you reach out, passing over him and searching further, running over the field and through the trees to the camp beyond. There are people in the forest, exactly where you knew they would be. None are close enough to call for immediate action but their proximity makes your heart thud faster. The intel the Winchesters were fed was off by close to three dozen bodies, many of them healthy, strong, and experienced fighters. The camp is ready for an attack, with a small group hidden off far to the south east. You blink, sight turning outwards, and look over at Sam. He’s crouched in the trees, mouth pressed into a tight line and jaw working, fingers gripping and releasing his rifle. You can smell the stress off him from twenty meters away. A muscle under his eye is jumping. 

You don’t have time to feel badly for him. The signal is almost lost in the chaos that follows. Sam bolts upright and ducks further into the forest, running towards the camp. There’s a sentry off to his left but the man stands down when he sees you following closely behind Sam. A bullet whistles by your ear. You hear Horace grunt and stumble but his steps quickly resume. 

Your skin crackles with electricity. The wind is picking up with the coming storm, something you feel in the ground before it’s evident in the air. The earth beneath your feet rumbles and quakes. You tilt your face up to the sky, feeling the snap of lightning just moments before the sound cracks overhead. Any noise you might make stepping through the heavy underbrush is covered by sudden raindrops, heavy and fat, falling through the foliage. For a moment, you lose sight of Sam. Horace is caught up in a fire fight with the sentry and backup. 

Frantically searching the area where Sam should be, you catch sight of his jacket, heart stuttering with relief. You slow to a stop, raise your rifle, rest your cheek against the cool butt, readjust to see through the scope, and line Sam Winchester squarely in your sights. All focus on the deep and steady breaths you pull in, you feel nothing but calm. When he turns and you can just make out the whites of his eyes, you pull the trigger.

Moving forward in a crouch, you keep your rifle up. Sam stiffens, back arching rigidly. His right knee bends and his weight brings him down onto it, hitting the ground with a thud. A trickle of blood leaks into his left eye. He blinks rapidly and reaches up to brush it away but his arm stops part way, his body slumping forward onto the ground.

There’s a flurry of motion around you; the forest is transformed from a place of peace and natural order to the bedlam of a war zone. Any need for covert movement is gone as people run and yell, rifles are fired, bullets snap through the leaves, splitting branches and piercing flesh. Howls of rage, gasps and whimpers pepper the air. You stop only long enough to check the body for a pulse. He doesn’t move, doesn’t twitch as you kneel on his back, fingers fluttering in front of his mouth and nose before pressing down on his carotid. Nothing. With a quick look around to make sure no one has seen you, you get up and spit on him.

“Fuck you,” you hiss before turning and running south in the direction of the camp.

***

“I need to see him.”

Gabrielle’s face is streaked with mud, her hair tangled with bits of leaves and grass. If it were not for the depths and expression in her eyes, she might look like a child. For someone who didn’t know better, she probably did.

The stench of stale sweat, blood, feces, diesel and cordite hang heavy in the air. Regent and Hunt are herding the last few of the humans into a van. Virgil gives you a small nod before climbing up into the cab of one of the vehicles. You wave him off.

Seeing Dean heading your way, you wait. Holding his rifle across his body, he stalks towards you with his shoulders high and head hanging low. His lips are twisted up in a snarl. Every muscle in your body tenses, readying for the hell he’s about to reign down on you.

Samandriel jogs up, cutting Dean off. Dean blinks rapidly at him, the blank expression on his face giving way to confusion.

“Status report,” Samandriel says, “we have three dead, seven wounded, and thirty-two walking.”

The skin between Dean’s brows puckers and his mouth opens, lips moving to form a question when you say, “Thank you, Samandriel.” You’re careful to enunciate every syllable of the angel’s name.

Samandriel nods slowly, his expression grim, “The uh…”

“We’ve got it,” you say.

You jerk your head to the side, eyes on Gabrielle. “This way,” you murmur, turning to lead the way to where the dead have been laid out, bodies already gone cold.

Hearing Dean and Gabrielle fall into step behind you, you move quickly. The dead have been separated; team members to one side, humans to the other.

Julian and Benjamin are standing over Anne, heads bowed. As you approach, Julian looks up. He holds your gaze for a moment, lips pressed together in a hard line.

“Could we have a moment, please,” you ask, giving the Werewolf an apologetic look. He nods and takes Benjamin by the arm, leading him away and out of earshot.

Sam’s body is stretched out beside Anne. Gabrielle makes a move forward but stops, gasping. You hear the gravel crunch under Dean’s boots as he makes to step towards his brother and then two back.

“I thought I felt it,” Gabrielle whispers. Louder, she says, “Did I feel it? Is this….”

You turn to Dean. He’s pieced it together but doesn’t seem ready to believe it.

“That’s not your brother,” you say.

“No,” Dean walks over and stands over the body. He doesn’t look at Sam’s face, his gaze going over the body instead. “That’s not what he was wearing, he….” Dean looks up at you, “Is this?”

“I felt it,” you say, “it was more than the storm. I was in line behind Sam when I lost sight of him. There’s no way that could have happened unless…” you shrug, “I’m not sure exactly how it works but when he reappeared, I knew it wasn’t him. It wasn’t just the clothes…”

When you saw Sam again, he looked lost, confused, and was no longer armed. The moment you saw his eyes, you knew what had happened. You didn’t take the time to try and figure out how; you took your shot.

“But,” Gabrielle studies Dean, shaking her head, “why are you still here? How…” she growls, her fists bunching, “how did he get swapped out?”

“I might be able to help with that.”

The familiar, deep voice sends a shot of dread coursing down your spine, weakening your knees. You don’t have to see Castiel to know it’s him. What he has to do with all of this, you can’t possibly imagine but there’s no way it means anything good for you.


End file.
